


Butt Stuff

by Plumpie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Drunk Victor Nikiforov, Eventual Smut, M/M, Medical Procedures, Nurse Victor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pharmacist Phichit Chulanont, Post-Op, Roommates, Slow Burn, Surgery, Unreliable Narrator, Vicchan Lives, Virgin Katsuki Yuuri, Wingman Phichit Chulanont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plumpie/pseuds/Plumpie
Summary: AU in which top Japanese male figure skater Katsuki Yuuri is recovering from an invasive (and frankly, quite embarrassing) surgical procedure, and his visitation nurse turns out to be terribly, terribly attractive. If only they had met under less humiliating circumstances.





	1. Post-Ass

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, guys. I've never tried writing fanfiction, and I've never written a story that was over 2k words, so this is completely new territory for me. Yuuri's medical issue is written with the thanks of a lot of research, but if I get anything wrong and you have personal experience, feel free to let me know!
> 
> I'm not currently in a position where I can make an actual uploading schedule - exams are coming up, I write kind of sporadically, and I'm kinda, uh, writing this as I go. I'll most likely write 1-2 chapters at a time and stagger their uploads.
> 
> Alternative title: Yuuri Craves Death, Victor is Blessed with Ass

Things weren’t going smoothly in Detroit.

Six months ago, Yuuri and Phichit moved out of their dingy apartment and into a considerably nicer, more spacious place. Phichit had finally graduated university (top marks, mind you, and he’ll never let anyone forget it), completed his seemingly endless amount of hours as a pharmaceutical intern, and got a job rather quickly (“Of course they couldn’t wait to hire me,” Phichit had said when Yuuri pointed this out, “I’ll be the cutest pharmacist in Michigan.”) As soon as he received his first paycheque, he demanded that he and Yuuri find a better place. Yuuri, of course, didn’t protest.

So, they did exactly that. And things went smoothly for those precious, beautiful six months. Their comfortable little home was in a great area, and it only had a few minor issues. (“Phichit, are you sure the heat is on?” Yuuri asked countless times. They both swore they would get someone in to fix the insulation one day.) But to make up for it, the rink Yuuri practiced at was only a short, blissful drive away, and they actually had a decent sized yard for Vicchan.

This was until Yuuri sat down one night to watch television after a long day (F.R.I.E.N.D.S was calling his name—a few seasons wouldn’t hurt, would they?) and was immediately met with some odd discomfort.

His initial thought was that he had bruised his tailbone by falling during practice, but he couldn’t recall being in any pain prior to that day. Perhaps it was more serious, like hemorrhoids (Yuuri shuddered at the thought) or maybe everything was fine, and there was just something hard under the couch cushion, and—

Of course, Yuuri has always been stubborn. No 24-year-old adult wants to walk into the ER claiming to have something seriously wrong with his ass. He remained anxious about it for days, refusing to go to the doctor out of embarrassment. Eventually, the discomfort became severe, and rapidly turned into agonizing pain. Sitting became out of the question, and his figure skating coach, Celestino, definitely noticed his student’s grimaces when he flubbed a jump and fell. Telling Phichit was a nightmare for his dignity (“A sore butt, you say? What have you been up to while I was at work, Yuuri? Care to share?”) but his Thai friend’s skin was quick to turn a sickly green when he saw the angry red bump at the base of Yuuri’s spine, grabbing his car keys and announcing that Yuuri was going to the emergency room right then and there, no questions asked.

Which is precisely how Yuuri ended up in the operation room a few hellish weeks later, knocked out cold with general anesthesia while a crowd of surgeons made it their sole mission to extract an infected cyst from the top of his intergluteal cleft—or in other words, the top of his ass crack. He had been diagnosed with a pilonidal abscess: generally thought to be caused by a sac forming around a strand of hair that had pierced through the skin. (“But to tell you the truth, Mr. Katsuki,” the doctor had said, “It isn’t clear what causes them, but they’re a real pain in the butt.” Yuuri didn’t laugh, only winced at the harsh pronunciation of his surname. Americans insisted on calling him ‘Mr. Kat-soo-ki,’ and Yuuri had long since stopped correcting them.)

When he was wheeled back to day surgery, groggy and terribly disoriented, Phichit was waiting with a spare change of clothes and the worried expression of a best friend.

“Mr. Chulanont,” said one of the nurses as she pulled a privacy curtain around Yuuri’s bed. “Mr. Katsuki’s documents are waiting at the front desk when you’re ready to leave. He shouldn’t feel any pain for a while yet, but he’s still drowsy from the anesthesia and will probably need help getting dressed.” Phichit gave her a polite nod and a swift thanks as she left.

“Phichit?” Yuuri croaked. His throat was undeniably messed up from the endotracheal tube.

Giving his friend a quick sympathetic pat on the arm, Phichit stood up with a look of pure determination on his face. “Yuuri, everything went great. The surgeon gave me the 4-1-1 while you were napping in the recovery room. The incision they made wasn’t as big as they thought it would have to be, but—Yuuri, are you listening?”

Yuuri’s eyes had closed and there was a relentless stream of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. His black hair was stuck up every which way, and there was a faint bruise on his chin from having to be positioned awkwardly during the operation. His skin was deathly pale, lips cracked; he even looked a bit skinnier since he arrived at the hospital early that morning. Phichit’s eyebrows knit together as he wiped his friend’s mouth delicately with the hospital bed sheet.

“Rise and shine, Yuuri. We gotta go, like, ASAP. This place is giving me the shivers,” Phichit whispered, not wanting to be overheard by the nearby patients, recognizing that the curtain was not impermeable to sound.

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered open again, the rims around them horrifyingly red. “It went okay?” he asked, spluttering as he realized the condition of his throat.

“Yes, it went okay. We can go home after I help you get changed,” Phichit said, not particularly looking forward to guiding his lethargic roommate into his underwear.

“I can do it myself if you get me out of this bed,” Yuuri suggested, trying to sit up and failing miserably.

Phichit quickly got to work helping him, adjusting the tilt of the bed so that Yuuri could carefully rotate his legs off of it without having to bend them too much.

When Yuuri was on his feet, Phichit gave a low whistle. “Wow, Katsuki. You’re really working those gowns.” His hand reached out to playfully tug on one of the strings on the front of Yuuri’s hospital gown. “And would you look at that! Legs for days, my friend.”

Yuuri wore a scowl on his face. “Stand outside the curtain,” he demanded in his raspy voice. “I can dress myself.”

“Feisty and persistent,” Phichit laughed, throwing Yuuri a mischievous grin as he pulled aside the curtain. “Let me know if you need me; don’t wipe out on the floor or anything. I’ll have my ear to this curtain, ass-man.”

Phichit had always been a high-spirited person. Playfully teasing Yuuri was his favourite thing to do now that he didn’t have college parties to attend and endless margaritas to be consumed. He meant well, however, and it sure didn’t seem like it, but now was the best time to joke around with his friend. It kept Yuuri’s anxiety at bay, even if it did trigger his sass to make a (beloved) appearance.

As Phichit disappeared into the void that was the blinding white room of the day surgery unit, Yuuri huffed irritably at his new nickname. All his hard work throughout his life—becoming an English major as a Japanese student, winning silver at last year’s Grand Prix… and yet, in the end, he had just become Ass-Man—The pitiful man with a thick bandage on his rear end, legs wobbling weakly as he attempted to ease his legs into his baggy sweatpants without causing damage. It was risky business. The sight of blood on the gowns didn’t help with his lightheadedness.

By the time his clothes were back on again (and let it be known that his lazy-day attire was a hell of a lot comfier than the hospital’s roughly-textured gowns, thank you very much), Yuuri had broken out into a sweat from the exertion. The only thing he couldn’t manage to do for the life of him was put on his socks, as he feared the angle he needed to bend his knee at was too dangerous, to the horror of his strong-willed disposition. When he pulled the curtain back to ask Phichit for some assistance, he was not there.

Yuuri, beyond irritated, had no choice but to waddle out into the openness of the room, which was bustling with every different colour and pattern of scrub suits imaginable. He quickly realized that he couldn’t see a damn thing. He racked his brain trying to think of where his glasses had gone, but he was still in a state of confusion, his memory was failing him, and the coldness of the floor against his bare feet was the only thing he could concentrate on.

“Mr. Katsuki?” There it was. Kat-soo-ki.

Yuuri realized he had been standing there for quite some time, squinting around the room in his mission to locate his friend.

“あ、ごめんなさい,” he apologized in the nurse’s general direction, slipping into his native language without realizing. He couldn’t see it, but the nurse gave him a confused smile, linking arms with him as she led him to the front desk where Phichit was (no surprise) chatting up a man behind the counter.

“Dave, can you grab Mr. Katsuki’s things from the bottom drawer? He’s ready to go,” she stated, unlinking her arm from Yuuri’s to help an elderly man put on his hospital slippers.

As the man working at the front desk began to rummage, Phichit turned to face Yuuri, his cheeks adorned with a cute flush.

“Yuuri! I see you got ready just fine,” Phichit exclaimed as he gave him a once-over, his eyes stopping abruptly at Yuuri’s pale, bare feet. “Uh…”

“Couldn’t get my socks on,” Yuuri murmured, “and I was abandoned.”

Phichit parted his lips in preparation to defend himself from his poor choice of actions, but he was saved by Dave hollering “A-ha!” as he held up a brown envelope with the words ‘Personal Belongings — Yuuri Katsuki’ written hurriedly on it with black sharpie.

Reaching out for the envelope, Phichit gave the man a quick wink and a suggestive “Thanks so much, David. Or can I call you Dave, too?”

Yuuri snatched the envelope out of Phichit’s hands seconds later, not planning to stay to watch Dave become flustered from his friend’s incessant flirting. He dug out his blue-framed glasses and settled them on his nose. He then took firm (as firm as he could muster) hold of Phichit’s wrist and pulled, hard, back towards his hospital bed. 

“You’re terrible. You’re terrible, and I need you to put my socks and shoes on. Then we’re leaving right away, you’re going to tuck me into my bed at home, and I’m going to cry myself to sleep because there’s a hole in my fucking ass.”

Phichit whimpered, “So strong all of a sudden, are we,” and he didn’t dare laugh at Yuuri’s choice of words, or say his farewells to Dave, or David, or whatever the hell that man’s name was.

 

—

 

As soon as they arrived back home, however, Yuuri collapsed on the couch, face buried in one of the cushions.

“I want to die,” he stated dramatically, his voice muffled.

Phichit simply sighed. He loved his friend, but he was dreading seeing him in inevitable pain once his numbness wore off. Even more, he was also dreading telling Yuuri the contents of the papers he received at the front desk.

He had avoided thus far letting Yuuri know too much about what happens post-operation. He didn’t want to upset his friend, make him nervous—or even worse, send him into a panic attack so soon after surgery. Phichit had even managed to persuade Yuuri to not look anything up on the internet (God knows Phichit had went on several haunting trips to Google—and they all ended in emotional tragedy and nausea) because it would only play with his mind and worsen his worry over the hellish thing.

Here’s the thing, though: this was, for all intents and purposes, quite a Big Deal Surgery, and Yuuri would not be healed in a few days, or a few weeks. Since the wound was left open—not stitched—it needed to be cleaned and packed with gauze…every single day. And Phichit, although he read the pilonidal cyst Wikipedia page, was not a medical professional capable of doing that.

Phichit knew Yuuri would be devastated. After all, you can’t exactly compete and train vigorously with a scary, open wound. Even if he did, he could risk serious injury and end his skating career forever. It was common knowledge that one wrong move was all it took; the skating world saw it time and time again. It was a no brainer: Yuuri would have to take the year off from competitive figure skating to heal properly. He eyed Yuuri’s hospital papers.

“Hey, Yuuri,” he began. “We need to talk.”

Yuuri turned his head at this, eyeing Phichit with suspicion. “About?”

“That great ass of yours.”

“For fuck’s sake, Phichit,” Yuuri groaned, planting his face into the couch once again.

Phichit flopped the pile of documents on the arm of the couch. “No, really. You can read through these or I can just give you the short and sweet summarized version.”

“Just tell me.”

Phichit sat down on the floor and put a sympathetic hand on Yuuri’s back. “While you were having a cesarian section for your ass-baby, I set you up with a home-care nurse. They’re going to come every day to change your bandage and stuff. Plus, if there’s anything, uh, wrong, they can get you an appointment with your doctor. They’re handy like that.”

Yuuri was silent, until, “Phichit.”

“Yes?” Phichit replied nervously.

“How long will it take for it close?”

Phichit hummed and got up to get Yuuri a glass of water.

 _“Phichit,”_ Yuuri whined. “Please just tell me.”

Phichit kept his lips tight together, dropping a few ice cubes into the cup with a plop. It wasn’t until he passed Yuuri the drink and sat back down that he spoke again.

“A while. Like, _a while_ a while. I’m sorry, Yuuri. I don’t think you can skate until it’s fully healed.”

Yuuri took a small sip of water, his eyes closed. “Alright.”

Phichit was taken aback at how calm he was acting. Perhaps it was just a façade, and Yuuri’s heart was breaking at that very moment, and Phichit would have to take time off work to console him every minute of every day—

“I was thinking of taking the season off, anyway.”

“Oh, Yuuri, I’m so sor—wait, what?”

Yuuri put his glass of water on the floor beside Phichit with a small breath. “I wanted to take a break. Not retire,” he added quickly. “Just a break, you know, just to do some other things for a bit. At least for this year.”

“So, you’re not upset?” 

Oh, Yuuri was fucking pissed, alright, make no mistake. Laying on his stomach for the next few months, eating painkillers as if they’re candy, and having a stranger come into his home to dig inside him every day sounded like a goddamn nightmare. Yet, Yuuri—not wanting to burden him—looked at Phichit, giving him a small smile, and calmly replied, “I’m not upset. Plus, at least now I have an actual excuse to take the season off, right? I was kinda scared of what Celestino would say.”

Phichit let out a breath he had been holding for a while. “Oh, thank god. I had accepted the possibility that you were going to choke me to death.”

“Then I’d have no one to take care of me,” Yuuri replied sarcastically.

“You’d have your nurse,” Phichit laughed. “And you love me too much.”

“Fantastic. And you’re right, I do. Most of the time.”

“So cruel, Yuuri!” Phichit cried. “Maybe the nurse’ll accidentally fall in love with you, and you’ll have to turn her down and subsequently break her heart,” Phichit fantasized. When Yuuri rolled his eyes, Phichit followed up with, “But you should sleep now, Yuuri. Up, up, up, it’s bedtime.”

“I’m not moving. I’ll sleep here.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m watching _Titanic_ , so good luck sleeping with the sounds of my sobbing,” Phichit said in a singsong voice. “I need a good cry after witnessing the shit I saw in that hospital, the late Mr. Cyst included.”

“Don’t name my cyst,” Yuuri grumbled, but soon enough he was out like a light.

—

The first thing Yuuri noticed when he woke up was the sunlight. It was six in the evening when he and Phichit had arrived home from the hospital, but one glance around the room revealed that it was now the early morning. Phichit was nowhere to be found. The curtains were open, giving Yuuri a view of the sky from the window opposite him. He checked the time on his phone: 7:26 AM. Yuuri had slept nearly thirteen and a half hours.

The second thing Yuuri noticed was the pain.

It was there, and it had made itself quite welcome.

Getting up from the couch was a feat in itself, as his body was stiff from lying on his stomach, and he couldn’t put any pressure on his backside in fear that the pain would become unbearable. When he turned the living room light on, he breathed out in relief. Phichit had left a note and the painkillers he was prescribed on the coffee table.

‘Yuuri,’ the note read. ‘I have work at 7 so unfortunately I cannot be your humble servant for the day. You know my number if you wake up in a pool of blood. xoxo.’

Rolling his eyes, Yuuri popped open the pill bottle. He didn’t plan on waiting to see if the pain would subside after the initial shock of feeling it as soon as he woke up.

That’s when his phone rang. It was a blocked number, and Yuuri was close to saying to hell with it and not answering, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Is this Yuuri?” asked a man’s voice, deep but cheerful. He clearly had an accent, but it was only a tiny bit more detectable than Yuuri’s own.

Yuuri chewed on his lip for a few seconds before replying. Usually, the only calls he received were from Phichit; Celestino; his sister, Mari; or his parents. Eventually, though, he gave a small, “Yes, it is.”

“Is it alright if I come in now, or would you like me to come back later in the day?”

“W-what?” Yuuri choked, starting to panic. He was still in his rumpled clothes from yesterday and hadn’t had a chance to wash up, or, well, anything—

“Oh, sorry! I should’ve specified who I was,” the man on the phone said, clearly embarrassed. “I’m your nurse. Should I come back later?”

 _Fuck_ , Yuuri thought. _Fuck, fuck fuck. _He had completely forgotten about the nurse, not even thinking that they would come this early in the morning. Plus, when he had pictured who his nurse would be, he had been picturing an older, stout lady, not some guy with a voice that could melt the Arctic. Serves him right for making assumptions based on nurse stereotypes—__

____

“Yuuri? Are you there?”

____

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri apologized. “I just need to change. Can I have a few minutes? I’ll be really, _really_ quick, I promise.” He had left too long of a pause. The nurse was probably irritated by now, even though his voice didn’t reveal anything of the sort.

____

“Sure! I’ll see you then,” he said, and then hung up.

____

Yuuri was changed, medicated, and his teeth were brushed in just under ten minutes. He had the quickest pee of his life. He skipped showering not only because of time constraints but he was also scared he’d fall or wet his bandage by accident. Nervous, he looked out of the front window to see a black car waiting in the driveway. He couldn’t make out his face, but his hair was grey and Yuuri sighed in relief. Having someone on the younger side would’ve been infinitely more embarrassing.

____

The nurse must have spotted him in the window or something, because he chose that moment to get out of his car. His head disappeared for a few moments, and when he came back into view he was holding an extremely large, heavy-looking bag, and—

____

Yuuri’s nurse wasn’t old. His silver hair was incredibly misleading. As he approached the door, (which Yuuri was now awkwardly holding open, his eyes wide in horror) Yuuri realized just how much shit he was now in.

____

His nurse was the hottest man he’d seen in his entire life.

____

He was fucked.

____


	2. First Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets his nurse for the first time. A wound dressing ensues. Or: Heart-Eyes Nikiforov tries to remain professional. Yuuri decides not to smother himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Take a drink every time you get secondhand embarrassment or your butt clenches involuntarily. (Or don't - you might die.)
> 
> Don't go on Google, kids. Yuuri's wound is quite modest, so don't picture a hole the size of the moon. If you search for images, I will know, and I'll curse you with a pilonidal cyst. Mark my words.
> 
> I tried not to make it too dialogue-heavy. Disclaimer: it's dialogue-heavy.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: I may be a bit inebriated. Inebriated me is not a good editor - they really like run-on sentences.

As soon as the nurse stepped into Yuuri’s house, he was assaulted by Vicchan.

“Oh! You have a poodle!”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry, he gets a bit too excited when new people come,” Yuuri explained whilst desperately trying to coax his dog away.

“I don’t mind,” the man said, grinning as he scratched behind Vicchan’s ears. “I have one as well. She’s a lot bigger, though.”

Yuuri was awkwardly hovering above them. “What’s her name?”

“Makkachin. She’s a good dog,” he stated proudly, giving Vicchan one final pat before he stood up again. He was only a few inches taller than Yuuri, perhaps teetering on the 6 foot mark. His skin was pale, with a clean-shaven face, while his scrubs were baby blue and didn’t have even a ghost of a wrinkle to them. Yuuri felt like shrinking. He was currently wearing a pair of loose sweat pants and a t-shirt Phichit had bought him that read “Olympic Gold Medalist in Napping” in huge, obnoxious letters (“It’s like this shirt was made for you,” Phichit had said. Yuuri wasn’t able to honestly disagree. He was extremely skilled in the art of sleeping.) - not that he was partaking in a _fashion contest or anything_ , for crying out loud, he was in his own home and was recovering from surgery—but the man’s gaze sent shivers up his spine. Nausea churned in his stomach, along with something else entirely.

“And my name is Victor, by the way. Nikiforov.”

The name sounded musical the way Victor said it, but Yuuri knew if he even made the tiniest attempt at pronouncing the man’s surname, he would butcher it. 

“Oh,” Yuuri managed to say. “Nice to meet you.”

Jesus Christ, of course his name is Viktor. Of course his nurse turns out to have the same name as his _fucking dog_. Yuuri could already hear Phichit teasing him about it. No, _God_ , Phichit could never find out about this. Yuuri would make sure of it.

The story of Vicchan’s name is simple.

Yuuri and Phichit were dorm mates for a year in university, but they quickly hit it off and decided to move into a cheap apartment nearby the following year. When they got Vicchan, they had both agreed to name him after someone in the _Harry Potter_ universe (due to a slight, mutual obsession at the time) - and of course, Phichit suggested with a laugh to name him Viktor, after Viktor Krum, solely because he was a toy poodle and the name didn’t suit him at all. (“It’s _ironic_ ,” Phichit explained. “He’s like, this tiny doggo, and he’s named after a huge, buff wizard dude from Bulgaria. Plus, wasn’t he kinda hot in the movies?”)

But, of course, Yuuri refused to go around calling his dog Viktor (it was too formal for a dog—it was the equivalent to naming your cat ‘Kevin’), so he settled on giving him a cutesy version of it instead. The nickname Vicchan secretly grew on Phichit, and Yuuri would catch him saying it in a whisper when he thought Yuuri couldn’t hear, but around Yuuri he would always exclaim _‘Viktor_! What a good boy,’ just to get on the man’s nerves. Vicchan didn’t give a shit either way - he was blissfully unaware of his ill-fitting name.

And yes, he regretted letting Phichit name their dog something so silly, because every time he sees Vicchan from now on he was going to think of goddamn Hot Nurse.

Hot Nurse, whose smile was infinitely brighter than the sun, and Yuuri could definitely feel his skin burning.

“Where shall we do this, then?” Victor asked as he shrugged off his coat. “Living room, bedroom…?”

“Living room,” Yuuri replied a little too quickly.

Victor gave him a knowing grin that made Yuuri’s legs turn to jelly. “Lead the way!”

—

Yuuri was belly-down on the couch once more, only this time with company. He was sure his face was consistently transitioning from red to green, and back to red again— like obnoxious, flashing Christmas lights—from anxiety and humiliation.

He had pulled a chair from the kitchen over to the coach for Victor, who vehemently protested the act of Yuuri doing any strenuous lifting, but ultimately let him in awe of Yuuri’s unwavering determination (or stupidity - either worked just fine).

“Would it be better if I laid on my side?” Yuuri asked timidly as he watched Victor sift through papers in his bag.

Victor hummed, pulling out a folder and a stack of unmarked documents. “Your stomach should be good, unless you’d be more comfortable on your side,” he said, plucking a pen from his breast pocket with a sigh. “Unfortunately, the first visit involves a ton of paperwork. I hope you like personal questions?”

Yuuri let out a nervous laugh. “Not really.”

Victor smiled. “It’s not too bad. I’ll go quick so we can get to the main event.”

That didn’t make Yuuri’s heart race, nope, not at all. 

His palms were sweaty, and he slipped them under the pillow.

—

Victor wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be quick with the paperwork. He shot out rapid-fire questions like his life depended on it, and Yuuri didn’t even have time to be embarrassed.

“Live alone?”

“No, I have a roommate.”

“Are they your emergency contact?”

“Yes,” Yuuri replied, proceeding to give out Phichit’s phone number.

“Single, married, divorced, widowed—?”

“…Single,” Yuuri said in a quiet voice. Victor failed to hold his poker face, letting his lips quirk up in mirth. Yuuri didn't notice that Victor never wrote this fact down.

“Any allergies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you on any medication?”

“Tylenol 3 and, um, Xanax.”

Victor wrote quickly—Yuuri wondered if he could even read his own handwriting. It was angry-looking, with lots of spirals and underlines, fiercely unlike Victor himself, who seemed gentle and effortlessly put together. When Yuuri told him the medications he was taking, Victor’s eyebrows drew closer together and the movement of his pen halted. Yuuri’s stomach dropped.

“Really? They prescribed you T3?”

“Yes?” Yuuri said unsurely, suddenly caught off guard by the man’s question. He had thought Victor was possibly judging him for being on Xanax, or that he was going to tell him that the two medications conflict (and that he was going to _die any second_ )—but Phichit would have told him if they did, so he threw the thought out of his mind.

Victor rested his chin in his hand for a moment to ponder. Yuuri couldn’t help but think that the man looked just like a Greek statue - smooth and elegant. Yuuri sunk a little deeper into the couch. “They’re good for the pain, but I don’t think they’re worth the constipation. Especially since your wound is near that area, you probably don’t want to be straining during your bowel movements, right?”

Yuuri’s face was definitely at its maximum redness now if it wasn’t already before.

“Should I stop taking them?” he asked nervously.

Victor slipped the papers neatly into a dark green folder and answered, “No, not yet. But if you don’t have a bowel movement this week, you’ll have to switch to just extra strength. No codeine.” The worry that had occupied his face was now replaced with a smile, as if he wasn’t discussing Yuuri’s possible future in the Can’t Shit department just mere seconds earlier. “Now, for the fun part!”

Yuuri audibly swallowed, saying a silent prayer for his ass.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri. I’ll be _very gentle_ and I’ll explain everything I’m going to do as I do it, okay?” Victor beamed, wiping the surface of the coffee table with a disinfecting wipe.

 _Oh my god, don’t say it like that_. Yuuri shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Alright,” he squeaked.

“Right now I’m just getting things ready,” he said as he put on a pair of latex gloves. When he caught a glimpse of Yuuri’s heated cheeks, he let the corners of his lips curve upwards into a smirk. It was a dangerous expression. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, you know.”

“It kind of is,” Yuuri said quietly, turning his head the other way.

Victor still had that stupid smirk on his face. “Prostate exams are much worse.”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri said into the pillow.

Victor hummed softly, pouring saline and sterile water into the dressing tray. They both fell quiet, and Yuuri listened to the sounds of Victor opening up endless packages of gauze pads of varying sizes, scissors, and several pairs of tweezers. He took out a small, dark bottle and pulled out plain packing strips, setting it in the tray. When he had everything laid out, he turned back towards his mortified patient.

“I’m going to pull these down now, are you ready?” Victor asked, setting a hand lightly on the waistband of Yuuri’s pants. Yuuri stuffed his face in the pillow, and let out a muffled, breathy _yes._

Yuuri couldn’t see it, but Victor was blushing like a fucking teenager.

“I’m kind of the pilonidal expert, you know,” Victor said, amusement painfully apparent in his voice. “I’m quite good with these types of wounds. You’re in very good hands.”

He tugged softly on Yuuri’s pants until they were settled just below his butt cheeks, then did the same with his briefs, which were tight against his ass due to the thickness of the bandage - peeking just above them.

It wasn’t the ideal situation.

Yuuri may be an athlete, with hard muscles and strong thighs that could crush heads in an instant, but he still retained a certain roundness when it came to his body. His tummy wasn’t perfectly flat by any means, his hips were soft and fleshy, his cheeks were always going to have a pudginess to them, and his ass? Well, maybe it wasn’t in peak shape at that moment, but it was still impressively plump.

Victor’s eyes lingered a bit as he pushed up Yuuri’s shirt.

“Oh, this kind of tape is hard to get off,” he murmured. “I’ll use adhesive remover, unless you want a free wax job?”

Yuuri let out a _ha, very funny_ , apprehensiveness tinging his voice, and Victor chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

Victor took his time removing the tape. He watched Yuuri’s back rise and fall slower and slower. When he was sure Yuuri had calmed down, he cautiously removed the abdominal pad.

“I’m just going to clean around the wound before I remove the packing, okay, Yuuri?” he said gently.

“Alright.”

With tweezers carefully balanced in his long fingers, Victor dipped a two-by-two into the sterile water and glided it along the skin surrounding Yuuri’s wound. Victor wouldn’t torture Yuuri by measuring it quite yet, he’d save that for another day - the harsh prodding of the q-tip would only irritate the wound. The wound itself wasn’t the worst case by any means—it was quite deep, but not too long. It stretched from the top of the cleft down, but was well above the anus. Since its depth was impressive, though, it would take months for the granulation tissue to fill in completely. But Victor had seen much, much worse.

Yuuri got lucky by catching the infected cyst early, but of course, it was terribly unlucky to be burdened with it at all. And there was always the risk of infection, of the cyst coming back once the skin grew over, of the cycle viciously beginning again. Visitation nurses dealt with pilonidal patients (or victims, as Victor's coworkers liked to call them) more often than not, as they were quite common. Victor usually took them under his wing whenever they popped up, if he could - he had a good reputation when it came to his patients’ healing times and overall comfort. Unfortunately, the majority of young or male clients were marked down for female-only nurses, so Victor, being one of the small group of male nurses there, tended to get mostly older women. To put it mildly, they all had a deep love for him. (“Oh, aren’t you handsome,” one lady had cooed. She was in her early eighties. “Just don’t tell my husband I said that!” and she laughed, nodding towards an urn settled atop her living room fireplace. Victor paled whenever her name popped up in his schedule.)

If Yuuri was going to be honest, this part was quite relaxing. The gauze was soft against his skin. It tingled when Victor moved to a different spot. He closed his eyes, his breaths delightfully even.

Victor caught Yuuri shiver, and he laughed lightly, throwing the gauze away. “Next time I’ll warm up the solutions beforehand so it doesn’t feel so cold.”

Yuuri almost choked.

“Did you take your medication before I came?” Victor asked, switching his blue gloves out for tighter, sterile ones.

“Yes, I took it after you called,” Yuuri replied.

“Good. It shouldn’t hurt too much when I pull out the packing, then,” he stated, and Yuuri blanched, wanting to stay at the painless stages of the procedure.

“Relax, Yuuri,” he whispered, and suddenly it was happening.

The tips of the tweezers caught the long strip of gauze inside of him, and Victor diligently tugged, lifting it up and out of the wound. It seemed never-ending.

Yuuri noted that it felt like a ferocious baby snake being pulled out of your ass. Except the snake is coated in dark, dark blood and god knows what else, Hot Nurse is holding it up and inspecting it, and you’re wishing for the clammy hands of death to sweep you up into its arms. Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat.

Victor plopped it into his waste bag. “Was that bad?”

Yuuri was sure his skin was deathly white. “It was pretty bad.”

Victor’s laugh was melodic. He took his gloves off. “At least you’re honest! I can’t count how many people have full-out cried during these. You have a high pain tolerance.”

Yuuri lifted his head from the pillow. “Thank you.”

Victor smiled brightly and put on a new pair of gloves. “So, you know what I do for a living. What about you?” he asked casually.

Yuuri hesitated; considered lying. On one hand, being a decorated figure skater is at least a little bit impressive (quite possibly the only redeeming merit he has), but on the other, he didn’t exactly like how easily Victor could find out everything about him on the Internet - his earlier years when he flubbed a great deal of jumps, bad costume choices, not to mention some of his more—uh—suggestive routines.

But, why not? Isn’t a man who saw the inside of your body entitled to know what kind of career you have?

Oh, fuck it. “I’m a figure skater.”

Victor filled a syringe with saline, attaching an intracatheter to the end to increase the pressure when irrigating Yuuri’s wound. “Explains the pain tolerance. Do you skate competitively?”

Yuuri was watching Victor now, his head propped up in his hands. The syringe made his anxiety spike a bit, not knowing what Victor was planning to do with it. “I..yeah. I skate for Japan.”

“Are you any good?” Victor teased.

“I won silver at the Grand Prix last year. Bronze at Sochi.”

Eyes twinkling, Victor looked at the younger man in admiration. Yuuri didn’t notice this however, as his eyes were glued to his coffee table, which was covered in various medical supplies.

“блин! Now I regret not watching the Olympics,” Victor laughed. “Did you like Russia?”

Yuuri’s eyes rested on the slightly older man’s face. He was flattered that Victor took an interest in his career. Yuuri didn't know what he had said in Russian, but it sounded so natural coming out of his mouth - he suspected Victor could call him down to the lowest in his native language and Yuuri would still swoon. “I didn’t really get to see much apart from the rink and the hotel,” he admitted regretfully.

“Ah, too bad,” Victor said, syringe still poised between his fingers. “I’m from St. Petersburg, but I haven’t been there in a long time.”

“When did you move to America?”

“After high school,” Victor answered simply. He moved closer with the syringe, scooting to the edge of his chair, and Yuuri felt a rush of saline squirt inside the wound, with a particularly lewd noise accompanying it.

“I’d love to see you skate sometime,” he said suddenly.

“Sure, yes—I mean, I can’t skate until I’m healed, but—“ Yuuri replied, very obviously flustered.

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Victor, sympathy flickering across his face. “Don’t worry, though! I’ll get this fixed up in no time!” he followed up confidently, and he gave Yuuri’s hip a soft squeeze. Yuuri looked away in embarrassment. His cheeks burned.

_Is this Heaven or Hell?_

Victor irrigated the wound a few more times. He kept one of his hands lightly on Yuuri’s back (as moral support, of course) and whenever he felt the man shiver his lips twitched into a sweet smile.

—

Soon enough, Yuuri was all bandaged up again.

Victor was gentle; kind. When he finished, he gave Yuuri a pat on the butt (and subsequently, a _fucking heart attack_ ) and said, “All done, skater boy,” with humour in his voice. He politely pulled Yuuri’s drawers up along with his pants, and Yuuri exhaled in relief, managing to breathe out a thank you.

“I work five days a week,” Victor said once he had his coat on. “Off on weekends. You’ll probably have Leo or Chris on those days… they’re really the only other men working with us now.”

Yuuri gave him a look of confusion. “Are there no female nurses?”

Victor stared. “You mean you’d be okay with a female nurse?”

“Uh… yes?” he said slowly. Why wouldn’t he be okay with a female nurse?

Victor shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just that… I think you’re the only person I’ve seen so far marked down for male-only. It was specifically written on your form.”

Yuuri paled. He hadn’t filled out the form to set up the home-care nurse. Phichit did.

Phichit fucking Chulanont was going to get an earful when he got home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> блин - if you look this up, it'll most likely translate to 'pancake' or 'crepe,' but it's also used as an exclamation such as 'damn!' or 'gosh!'


	3. A Booty Call Gone Amiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri gets roasted in the group chat, receives a text from an unknown number, and lets curiosity get the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said multiple times that I probably wouldn't be able to update until late next week, and yet here I am two days later. As it turns out, my writer's block disappears when I have actual studying to be doing. Crazy.
> 
> I wrote most of this at, like, 3am because I didn't feel like sleeping, which is why it's all over the place and kind of a filler - and yeah, I really did indulge in the group chat format. (I couldn't help myself.)

**hole-y shit changed his nickname to i’m going to fucking yell  
i’m going to fucking yell changed gaylanont’s nickname to TRAITOR**

**i’m going to fucking yell:** so can any of you guess what just happened

**i’m going to fucking yell:** i’ll tell you what happened

**mila babe-icheva:** oh, this should be good lol

**i’m going to fucking yell:** SOMEONE whom i PUT ALL MY TRUST IN FOR SOME REASON checked the box for MALE NURSES ONLY on my form

**the guangs all here:** omg oops chu got caught :P

**mila babe-icheva:** lmao he was so sure you wouldn’t find out

**i’m going to fucking yell:** oh so there’s just a group chat without me where everyone plots to ruin my life

**seung still owes mila 20 dollars don’t forget:** We use it sparingly

**mila babe-icheva:** it’s mostly just embarrassing drunk pics of you phichit sends don’t even worry about it

**mila babe-icheva:** it’s called “we love our gay son sluuri katsucky” if that makes u feel better

**i’m going to fucking yell:** …i’m going to move back to japan

**i’m going to fucking yell:** so anyways. as i was saying.

**i’m going to fucking yell:** i ended up getting the hottest man alive. i’m not even kidding i would’ve let him kill me. i was ready to die. i’m still shaking

**the guangs all here:** aww!!! phichit did a good thing then  <3

**i’m going to fucking yell:** NO HE DID NOT. i’m not dealing with any phichit apologists in this chat either so don’t even try

**i’m going to fucking yell:** let me set the scene. it’s like 8am, some hot russian man shows up. he has like, platinum hair. scrubs. a dad face. jawline. he pets my dog

**i’m going to fucking yell:** cut to me, face down on the coach. he pulls down my pants, puts some stuff in my ass

**i’m going to fucking yell:** and leaves

**the guangs all here:** ok yuuri pls i’m still young :(

**i’m going to fucking yell:** THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT

**i’m going to fucking yell:** and you’re 18 stop

**mila babe-icheva:** our hot little katsudon is going to lose his virginity soon methinks

**mila babe-icheva:** wait would it even be safe? where is the hole lol

**seung still owes mila 20 dollars don’t forget:** Lol there’s no way Yuuri is a virgin, need I remind you that he takes pole dancing classes and spends half his money at the bar? 

**seung still owes mila 20 dollars don’t forget:** I was the only one here who witnessed him try to give JJ Leroy a lap dance after the Grand Prix because he thought he was Justin Trudeau. Like he literally sat on him and started singing O Canada and no one fucking believes me when i tell them.

**the guangs all here:** AH stop please yuuri will be so mad

**mila babe-icheva:** HAHAHA i believe u. yuuri likes to get his drink on. trust me he’s a slutty virgin but a virgin nonetheless

**mila babe-icheva changed i’m going to fucking yell’s name to katslutdon**

**mila babe-icheva:** …oh and speaking of money, seung gil

**katslutdon:** FUCK OFF BOTH OF YOU

**seung still owes mila 20 dollars don’t forget:** Why am I being attacked by both sides right now

**mila babe-icheva:** oh yuuri u wound me. u put a hole in my heart. call the sexy nurse asap

**katslutdon has left the chat.**

**TRAITOR:** i hate working at a pharmacy it’s 99% old ppl where r the hotties who need #meds i’m parched

**TRAITOR:** i look so cute it’s all for naught

**TRAITOR:** wait why is that my name

**TRAITOR:** oh shit LMAO my boys gettin laid

—

Yuuri wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit that he laid on the couch and watched _Terrace House_ all day. It felt good to not have any responsibilities. To be completely honest, the pressure of skating started getting to him once he actually started placing high—once you start, you’re expecting to keep winning, and winning… 

Don’t get it wrong, Yuuri loved skating. He loved a lot of things: his and Phichit’s Thai food nights, sleeping in, walking Vicchan around the block, a good bottle of liquor—just to name a few. But none of those things ever gave him the anxiety skating did. Throughout the years, he often wondered if it was an unhealthy kind of love—one full of pressure—the physical pressure on his body, the pressure to make his country proud, to make his parents proud, his coach…

Since he was on his belly, his neck ached from craning it up towards the television, so sometimes he just laid there and simply listened. It was calming, in a way, hearing his native language, but it made him miss home. He had only visited Hasetsu a handful of times after moving to Detroit at eighteen, and his stiff body longed for the hot baths of the onsen. Yuuri let himself drown in nostalgia while he listened to the quick syllables Yoshimi Tokui; the harsh laugh of Ryota Yamasato; the small, calming voice of Reina Triendl—even if it was met with a strange tinge of sadness.

He eventually called his mom to let her know that the surgery went okay. It was much later in Japan - Hiroko’s voice was soft; tired. It made Yuuri’s heart ache.

Yuuri dreaded it, but he called Celestino as well. When the words ‘taking the season off’ left his mouth, he couldn't help but feel terrible. Celestino was quiet. He didn’t ask ‘are you sure?’ or tell Yuuri to think about it for a bit longer, just broke his silence with an “alright, Yuuri,” and “I’ll talk to you soon.” When the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders, it was promptly replaced with a cool, static numbness.

Thankfully, their bathroom was on the main level, so he didn’t have to make any treacherous journeys. His phone charger was upstairs in his bedroom, however. But, needless to say, he didn’t mind letting his phone die.

His appetite was virtually nonexistent. Other than a few saltine crackers and the odd yogurt, he didn’t eat. The pills made him drowsy, but he found himself keeping his eyes open, letting the half-hour episodes of the popular reality show slip by one after one. He would be lying if he said that Victor didn’t have anything to do with keeping him awake.

God, Victor. Yuuri could still feel the ghost of that man’s hand on his back.

And tomorrow was Friday. He would be back, here, in Yuuri’s house, with his wandering hands and blue eyes and his hint of cologne—

When the front door creaked open, Yuuri didn't notice.

“How’s my lovely little Yuuri doing~?”

Yuuri snapped his head in the direction of Phichit’s voice as he came into the dark living room. “Not good, asshole,” he said sharply.

“Speaking of asshole, how’s yours?” Phichit was trying hard not to crack up.

Yuuri grunted in response, desensitized to the copious amount of ass jokes, and gave his attention instead to the bag of food Phichit was wielding. “What did you get?”

“Borscht.”

Yuuri stared. “Borscht?”

“Well, of course,” Phichit said mischievously. “I figured that you, of all people, would enjoy a taste of Russian. Plus, it’s chock full of meat.”

“ _Fuck_ , Phichit. You are unbelievable,” Yuuri said with a screech of embarrassment. “You paid _actual money_ to make that joke.”

Phichit plopped himself down in a chair, taking out two sizeable containers. “It was worth it. Mila chipped in and e-transferred me $5.”

“You’re all killing me. You have no idea what I went through this morning. It was so humiliating,” Yuuri groaned.

“Aren’t you going to thank me for indirectly getting you a man?” Phichit asked incredulously. “I mean, come on, Yuuri. The ungratefulness.”

“You _directly_ gave me a headache.”

“I _indirectly_ gave you a boner,” Phichit corrected him. He passed Yuuri one of the containers of borscht, and it was, indeed, full of meat, mixed in with angry red tomato paste and a variety of vegetables.

“Didn’t get a boner,” Yuuri muttered. He failed to mention that he had to concentrate really, _really_ hard to achieve this fact.

“What did you guys talk about?” Phichit asked with a mouth full of food. “How gay is he?”

“I didn’t get a chance to measure his level of gayness,” Yuuri retorted.

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Phichit asked as he rolled his eyes. “Spill the beans or I’ll make a surprise appearance while he’s here next time.”

“…Are you off tomorrow?” Yuuri asked nervously.

“Yes! I’m going to watch all the Lord of the Rings movies. That is, if you don’t hog the TV,” he stated, excitement making his voice go high, but it quickly dropped again when he asked, “Why? Will he be here tomorrow?”

Yuuri hummed and quickly plunged an overflowing spoonful of food into his mouth. “Yes, and you’re not allowed to meet him.”

“I’m not going to steal your hot _butt-nurse_ away, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Phichit said. “Turn the subtitles on. I can’t understand a word of Japanese.”

“うそつき,” Yuuri said under his breath. “But only if you grab my charger from upstairs.”

“ฉันไม่,” Phichit retaliated contradictorily, but he obliged.

—

**[12:32pm]**  
Hi, Yuuri. I’m very sorry that I’m texting your personal phone number, but I’ve lost my wallet and I think there’s a chance it may be at your place. Do you think you could take a look around?

**[1:18pm]**  
I’ll be okay without it until I come there tomorrow, if you’re busy. :)

**[1:20pm]**  
Oh, and this is your nurse by the way. I keep forgetting to specify haha

Yuuri stared at the unfamiliar number for several heavy, loaded seconds before shooting up off of the couch, startling Phichit in the process.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked, eyes wide. Vicchan had jumped off of the younger man’s lap with a yip.

Yuuri didn’t answer him.

It was only 3:30, so Yuuri didn’t feel _too_ terrible about not being able to answer his nurse’s texts. 

He flicked on the kitchen light, determined to scour the entire house for Victor’s wallet, but in an anticlimactic conclusion to the short-lived mystery, Yuuri spotted it on the counter.

Yuuri didn’t question why Victor had put his wallet on the counter—there were a million possible perfectly normal reasons, after all.

Hating himself for it, he pulled it open.

Bank card, credit card, a punch card for a frozen yogurt place (2 more until he gets a 20% discount), a few bandaids, a condom (Yuuri mentally scolded him; everyone knows you aren’t supposed to keep condoms in your wallet), an old movie ticket for a French film Yuuri had never heard of, and, god, where is it—

Victor’s driver's license.

Yuuri felt very bad for doing this. 

_(Did he?)_

He pulled the card out from its slot.

_(No, not in the slightest.)_

Of course Victor achieved the impossible and managed to look stunning in his ID photo. When Yuuri had gotten his taken, the lady in charge had made him tilt his head down so that there wouldn’t be a glare on his glasses, but he tilted it a bit too far and it resulted in an unfortunate double chin.

But that’s not what Yuuri cared about.

_December 25th, 1988._ Christmas Day… His birthday had just passed. What would that make him—twenty-eight? Yuuri sighed in relief. Only four years older. The man’s high hairline had made him worry, he had to admit.

**[3:38pm]**  
hi, this is yuuri

Yuuri stared at his phone, contemplative. Obviously the person answering was him. He erased it and started over.

Phichit, quiet as a mouse for once in his life, looked over his shoulder. “You stole his wallet? Yuuri, that’s not how you treat your hot Russian boyfriend.” Yuuri jumped, his finger slipping in the process. To his horror, he had pressed the send button. “Is this him? Holy shit, he _is_ hot—“

**[3:41pm]**  
do you want to come

“Phichit!” Yuuri yelled as he desperately tried to put his phone on Airplane Mode to stop the text from going through, but it was a lost cause. A read receipt popped up under it almost immediately. In an effort to prevent Phichit from seeing Victor’s name (due to the Vicchan situation, yes, but also because Phichit was a master of stalking people on social media) he smacked Victor’s license out of Phichit’s nosey hands and it promptly flew across the kitchen.

“What the hell? Are you sexting him right now? Yuuri, you’re so fake,” Phichit whined. “Pretending to be mad at everyone but you’re here secretly flirting awa—“

Yuuri violently slapped one of his hands over his friend’s mouth while using the other to desperately fix his mistake. Phichit gave it a playful lick, and Yuuri tried to hobble away, stumbling into the nearby shoe rack.

**[3:42pm]**  
Come?

**[3:42pm]**  
sorry i meant to say come get your wallet because i found it

**[3:43pm]**  
Oh, of course. Would it be alright if I came now?

Phichit was watching intently, chin on his friend’s shoulder. “Hurry up and say yes.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Yuuri cried as he attempted but failed to shrug him off of him.

“I bet he left it here on purpose. Oh, this is so exciting—“

**[3:44pm]**  
yes that would be alright

**[3:44pm]**  
Okay. See you :)

Yuuri almost collapsed to the floor.

Phichit was now texting, his fingers moving rapidly across his phone. He had a devilish smirk on his face that Yuuri longed to wipe off. “This gives ‘booty call’ a whole new meaning. I hope he’ll be able to smell the borscht on your breath.”

**TRAITOR changed his name to best wingman**

**best wingman:** yuuri's nurse is otw to bang him lol

“Piss off, Chu,” Yuuri said as his phone dinged. He was desperately trying to put everything back into Victor’s wallet in just the right place. It would be mortifying if his nurse noticed that he had been rummaging through his wallet. But there was something very important missing. Yuuri, wallet clutched in hand, whipped around to face Phichit.

“Did you see where his license went?” he asked slowly, scanning the kitchen floor. It couldn’t have went far, right?

Phichit lifted his head, unburying his nose from the screen of his cell phone. “Maybe you shouldn’t have slapped it out of my hands like some kind of animal,” he stated, accusatory.

Someone pulled into the driveway. Both of the men stilled.

Black car. The door opened. Silver hair.

“Oh, shit,” Phichit whispered. No fucking way. It had been mere minutes since Yuuri sent that last text.

Yuuri dove to the floor. Fuck the wound, fuck the pain, fuck trying to eventually get himself back onto his feet. Phichit bailed, sprinting out of the kitchen, probably to laugh hysterically into Vicchan’s fur. “Viktor, your daddy is in big trouble,” Yuuri heard him say, and he ignored the way his heart raced upon hearing the name. He looked under the table, crawling frantically around the legs of the dining chairs. That was all he had time for. Soon enough, there was an awful knock at the front door. Yuuri smacked his head on his way back up—he grimaced at the ache in his legs and the pain pulsing from the wound.

When he meekly opened the door, his hair was dishevelled, his pupils were blown out, and his cheeks were exceptionally rosy. He was still wearing that stupid shirt from when Victor saw him last.

Victor, no surprise, looked gorgeous. His shift had obviously ended, because he was no longer wearing scrubs but rather a pair black pants and a pure white dress shirt—almost as if he was dressed for a date.

(Which would’ve been absolutely fine. He was a grown man with a good job, he probably went on loads of dates—)

“Ah, I hope I’m not bothering you,” Victor said, eyes zeroing in on Yuuri’s flushed cheeks and the way his bangs stuck to his forehead just a little bit. Yuuri swallowed down his panting breaths, trying to portray normalcy. He failed.

“No, no, no, you’re not, don't worry,” Yuuri said quickly, opening the door further so that Victor could step in out of the cold. “Please come in.”

Victor let out a breath. “Oh, good.”

Yuuri’s hands shook a bit as he passed Victor his wallet. “S..sorry for not answering you earlier,” he said quietly. Victor slipped the wallet into a pocket inside his coat, not even bothering to look inside of it. Then again, why would he?

Offering the nervous man a wink, Victor said, “No worries! Just don’t tell my boss I contacted your personal number. She’d have my head.”

Then his eyes seemed to slip past Yuuri and focus on something just behind him at his feet. Yuuri turned his head just as Phichit came scampering into the room.

“ _Viktor_! Yuuri, he has—“

Yuuri dropped to his knees before his dog—silly, silly Vicchan—and gritted his teeth at the impact. He plucked the card from his slobbering mouth.

“Sorry, he must’ve taken it,” Phichit said. He tried to usher the dog away. “Bad Viktor,” he continued, scolding the pup. Vicchan whined.

Victor—hot, human Victor—looked confusedly at Yuuri, who was still on the floor, miserably wiping spit off of the man’s card with his shirt. “Oh, is your dog named Viktor, too?”

That’s when Phichit froze. His lips twitched dangerously. _Don’t do it_ , Yuuri thought. _Oh my god, please don’t fucking do it._

__“Yuuri,” Phichit said sweetly, sweeping Vicchan into his arms. He looked physically pained from holding back laughter. “You told me so much about how _cute_ your nurse is, but you never mentioned his name.”_ _

___He did it._ _ _

__Victor was blushing, and he covered his mouth. “ _Ah_ , Yuuri, I’m sure the card is fine—“_ _

__Victor was right, the card was perfectly fine - there wasn’t one goddamn mark on it. But that wasn’t the problem._ _

__Phichit must have known. He was a cruel man indeed, this was no secret, because when Yuuri looked to his friend for guidance, he was gone, and Yuuri was left kneeling in front of his nurse._ _

__It was painfully familiar._ _

__(The being abandoned by Phichit part. Not the kneeling part.)_ _

__Victor was looking down at him. “Yuuri?”_ _

__Yuuri took a breath, one hand reaching for the counter in an effort to lift himself up. Victor bent down and slipped his card in his pocket, and suddenly his hands were holding Yuuri’s. Oh, he's-_ _

__Yuuri pulled himself up thanks to the death grip he had on Victor. “God, sorry, thank you—“_ _

__Victor made no effort to remove their entangled fingers. “Are you in pain?” he interrupted._ _

__“Just- just from bending down, I think. I’ll be okay,” Yuuri said quietly, embarrassment seeping into his voice._ _

__“You should rest.”_ _

__Yuuri nodded and loosened his grip. Victor moved Yuuri’s hands to his sides and laughed. “Thank you for letting me come on such short notice.”_ _

__“Of course.”_ _

__“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Victor asked. He was still very close. Yuuri worried that maybe he really might've been able to smell the borscht. He kept his mouth shut._ _

__Yuuri nodded once more, and then Victor was gone._ _

__—_ _

__**best wingman:** ok they’re alone in the kitchen what do i do_ _

__**mila babe-icheva:** pic please_ _

__**best wingman sent 1 attachment.** _ _

__**seung-gil finally paid tf up:** What’s the blob on the floor?_ _

__**best wingman:** lmao thats yuuri_ _

__**mila babe-icheva:** is he sucking d whats happening_ _

__**best wingman sent 1 attachment. ******__

____

**best wingman:** HOLDING HANDS

____

**mila babe-icheva:** ugh vanilla

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> うそつき - liar  
> ฉันไม่ - I'm not


	4. Drunk Off Your Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor copes with having a cute patient in some unhealthy ways, Phichit is sneaky, and Yuuri has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, you guys. Sorry for not updating in a while!
> 
> (Good news, though - I did well on my exams.)
> 
> (Bad news - I had something completely different written for this chapter, but I ended up scrapping it and rewriting. So, I would've updated sooner, but I'm indecisive. Also, I rush and write 3k-ish words in one sitting so that it won't sit there and haunt me. The pacing is probably shit. I really love using unnecessary italics. Please love me.)
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, you're all so sweet and encouraging!! It really does motivate me to continue this. I've literally never shown anyone my writing (other than teachers) in a long time, so the positive reinforcement is great. Squirt me with a giant hose if you hate anything.

“Well?”

Victor’s face was a delightful pink as he backed out of the Katsuki/Chulanont household’s driveway. He gave the man sitting in his passenger seat a starry-eyed look, giddiness hopelessly taking control of him.

“Oh, Chris, I love my job. Really, I’ll bathe a million—no, a billion—old women to keep him as a client forever. I will clean shit off of one trillion wrinkly men.”

Christophe Giacometti—clad in what he referred to as his ‘hot dude magnet’ outfit, which consisted of a silky black top and sleek pants, with shoes shined to perfection—stared at his driver, who was, in his golden opinion, very clearly losing his godforsaken mind.

“When’s the last time you had a boyfriend, darling? I’m starting to get worried,” Chris mused, one of his eyebrows quirked up in astonishment. “And, Jesus, please slow down? I don’t particularly feel like dying tonight.”

Victor sighed softly and began his quick descent into madness. “His dog—you know, the poodle I was talking about—well, his name is _Viktor_ —God, the look on his face, he was so embarrassed—imagine, an _Olympian_ being flustered around _me_ —and his friend, you know, the roommate guy I was telling you about—he said that Yuuri told him all about his _cute nurse_ —“

Chris rolled his eyes and decided to promptly interrupt his friend’s babbling. “You’re absolutely whipped. The first patient your age that you get, and suddenly you’re uncontrollably horny? You know Lilia wouldn’t approve of this, loverboy. You’re not supposed to seduce the clients, you know.”

“ _I’m the cute nurse_ ,” Victor said proudly, and Christophe grunted in response, deciding to fix his two-toned hair in the rearview mirror instead of listening to Victor’s apparent delusion. “He’s so sweet. Do you think he saved my number?” he asked dreamily, and mostly to himself. His eyes sparkled. “Do you think he’ll text— _Mmph_!”

Chris’ arm shot out and covered Victor’s mouth. “I changed my mind. The faster you drive, the faster I can get drunk and not have to listen to your wet dreams about some figure skater. Step on it, pops.”

Victor laughed into his hand as he drove. “I’m only three years older than you,” he tried to argue, but Chris’ hand muffled him.

“What was that, honey? I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up.”  
—

Needless to say, Victor got pretty hammered that night.

Chris had insisted they have a ‘guys’ night out.’ (“But it’s _Thursday_ , Chris,” Victor protested weakly. “And I have work tomorrow morning. Bright and early. You know how it is.” But Chris was having none of it, and it wasn’t spectacularly difficult to convince his co-worker, anyways—Victor would risk even the nastiest of hangovers any given day of the week, and Chris, a natural party animal, loved him dearly for it.)

Leo reluctantly agreed to be the designated driver, despite him being on his days off and despising having to babysit the two older men. He was younger than the both of them—fresh out of nursing school at the age of twenty-one—and Chris had convinced him on his very first day that ‘ _the male nurses stick together, sweetheart_ ’ and ‘ _please don’t abandon us for the Renal Dialysis unit like Emil did_.’

Leo got bored quickly (as it turns out, spending time at a bar whilst sober was a fucking snooze-fest) and ordered them to text him whenever they wanted to be picked up.

Victor wasn’t nearly as wild as Christophe, but he did manage to have his own fun. And, well, yes, he had had his fair shares of one night stands, and even some bathroom quickies (which he wasn’t _especially_ proud of, but, hey, what’s a single guy to do?). However, he found himself much more mellow that night, keeping more to himself and restricting his social interaction to Chris and the bartender.

(Perhaps it had something to do with Yuuri.)

(Even as he looked around the building, no one seemed good enough to spend his time with.)

(It wasn’t like Victor Nikiforov to be picky all of a sudden. He didn’t consider himself to be anything of a catch.)

(Yeah, he lacked a little bit of self awareness. Even if he acted confident, supposedly everyone has their own anxieties.)

After a considerable amount of shots, and a hefty amount of vodka to boot (“It’s my culture! Sara, I’ve told you about this!” Victor protested when the bartender told him that it wasn’t the greatest of ideas), he joined Christophe and a mystery man at their booth.

“Quit moping around, babe,” Chris said to him, his arms wrapped around a guy with shoulder length hair, who was looking at him as if he was the only thing in the world. “Text that Yuki kid and stop drooling everywhere.”

“Yuuri,” Victor corrected, a dopey smile starting to creep onto his face. He cupped his face in his hands, elbows pointe on the table. “ _Ah_ , am I drooling?”

“Yes. Give me your phone. You’re way, _way_ past the point of being unprofessional.”

“Nooo,” Victor whined, yet he let Chris snatch it away from him. “Please don’t look at my camera roll.”

“Dirty old man,” Christophe muttered, shifting a bit in the long-haired guy’s lap. “What’s in your camera roll, _hm_?” he asked mischievously. The man under him buried his face in his neck, and Chris shivered. He haphazardly pressed his middle finger against the smooth screen of Victor’s phone and swiped a few times.

“What did you do, search his name and save every picture you found?”

Victor broke into a laugh, and his head fell into his arms. “Don’t make fun of me, I know you can app-appreciate a pretty man,” he slurred.

“That I can,” Chris responded with a wink. The guy below him continued to kiss his neck, and the coloured lights from above danced across them both. “Don’t scare him away, hey, grandpa? He looks a bit delicate.”

Victor pressed his cheek against the cool surfacce of the table and watched Chris’ warped face through his empty glass, giggling. “Oh, he’s shy. But I think he was just embarrassed. You-you should watch some of his skating—it’s pretty sexual, some of it.”

Chris’ eyes rolled as he slid the phone back to Victor. “Of course you’d know that. I should tell him that his _pervy nurse_ touched himself to his Google image results.”

Victor, dizzy, managed to grasp his phone, having expected Chris to delete the man’s number in the holy name of professionalism, but to his relief, it was still there. After all, it was pretty bad that he was pining this hard for a patient whom he had just met that day. But Victor was excruciatingly lonely, and Christophe recognized this.

“When would I have had time to do that?” Victor said indignantly. “Th-that’s not what I-“

“Oh, did you just appreciate the photographic style?” Chris laughed. “Whatever spinny move he’s doing in the second one? Enjoying the _choreography_ , Victor?” The man held his liquor quite well. Victor had seen him get absolutely loaded on several fantastic occasions, but Chris always remained frustratingly suave—no slur, no funny walk—Victor, on the other hand…

Once he stumbled into his house and expelled the sickness from his stomach, all thoughts of Yuuri—hell, thoughts altogether, left his mind. Chris didn’t come along for the ride home—Leo had said something about ‘ _another boy toy_ ’ and ‘ _Victor will you stop singing Bohemian Rhapsody, those aren’t even the right lyrics_ ’ and some other stuff that Victor happily ignored. He let the false but wonderful warmth of the alcohol lull him to sleep. Makkachin snored at his feet, just happy his owner was home, peacefully oblivious.

—

**fish shit choose your font** : ok yuuri’s still asleep on the couch i have some shit to share

**mila has a date on saturday please clap** : wtf was he there all night?? wake him up & tell him to go to bed, his poor neck phichit

**fish shit choose your font** : he has a bf thats more important than a neck

**guanghog of all the cuteness in the world** : phichitttt:(

**fish shit choose your font** : fine jesus i’ll make him move after sharing this vital info

**fish shit choose your font removed nurse kink from the chat.**

**fish shit choose your font** : okay i found his fb…. and his twitter

**mila has a date on saturday please clap** : NURSE????

**fish shit choose your font** : yes. nurse.

**fish shit choose your font** : his fb is private which is boring but his twitter is wide open y’all. fucking jackpot, no joke. and he has some pretty interesting tweets esp from last night

**mila has a date on saturday please clap** : NO WAY PLEASE SHOW

**fish shit choose your font sent 4 attachments.**

**guanghog of all the cuteness in the world** : he's very pretty

**mila has a date on saturday please clap** : lmfao if yuuri doesn't land this one i’ll be pissed. that man is god

**mila has a date on saturday please clap** : my favourite tweet is “ _The bartender knows all about my sex life now #anothertequilaplease_ ”

**fish shit choose your font changed his nickname to leader of operation get yuuri laid**

**leader of operation get yuuri laid** : he’s perfect for him. oh my god... my little alcoholics. i’m on the verge of crying

—

There was a blizzard warning on Friday, and the snow dropped heavily and without remorse.

Victor didn’t call until two-thirty. Yuuri had let his worries get the best of him before then, but the older man’s voice sounded as chipper as always, with that sweet softness to it that made Yuuri want to crawl in a hole and stay there forever.

He kicked Phichit out of the house, and oddly enough, Phichit had no issue with it. (“Seung-Gil is at the rink today, anyway,” he said seriously. “I, um, miss watching you skate. I know it’s only been a month or so since I last watched, but…” he cut himself of with a wink and squeezed back into his usual mold. “Have fun and _be safe_ while I’m gone!”)

He let himself have a long shower, careful to pat the bandage dry. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad now, but there was still a dull ache even with the medication (yet he intensely feared how much it would hurt without it). In all honesty, his back hurt more than his wound did. Yuuri, determined, made it his goal to try to lay on his side today in an effort to save his spine from eternal damnation.

“Shit, it’s freezing,” Victor huffed when he stepped inside. His nose was red and his eyes watered. His hair was messy and there were bags prominent under his blue eyes, but Yuuri attributed this to having a difficult workday due to the storm. “Promise me you won’t go out at all today, Yuuri!”

“I promise,” Yuuri said solemnly. “Phichit is out, though. I’m a bit worried about him driving home in this…”

Victor hummed concernedly as he walked with Yuuri to the living room, dragging his bag with him. “I hope he makes it back okay. I’m sure he will! Need help?”

Yuuri hesitated at Victor’s hand, palm up in an offer to help him get down onto the couch. To Victor’s delight, he took it.

(He didn’t really need help.)

(But Victor had offered, and his hand was warm against his, so what was the harm?)

“Was it okay after I left yesterday?” Victor asked. He rubbed hand sanitizer into both of his hands before taking out the supplies. “Sorry if I made you bend over or move too much. I feel a bit silly for forgetting it,” he admitted, a bit bashful.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It hurts a lot less than it did yesterday morning.”

“Perfect.” Then, “Still taking the T3s?”

Yuuri, propped up on his elbows, gave him a careful look. “Yes,” he answered, dreading the next question.

“Did you have a bowel movement yet?” Victor let out, trying to be casual with his fancy black ink pen pressed against his notes, waiting.

“N-no, not yet.”

“Hmm,” Victor began. “If the pain isn’t unbearable, I’d like you to stop taking them. I’ve had too many patients go for a week or two without pooping, which—well, it isn’t good.” He tried to observe Yuuri’s reaction, but he was faced away. “Would that be alright, Yuuri?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Yuuri said, turning to give him a weak smile. “They make me too tired, anyway.”

Victor made a noise of agreement, making note of Yuuri’s change in medication. “Just extra strength.” He signed his name below his messy notes with finality, and then slid the multicoloured papers into Yuuri’s medical folder. “I brought some different stuff, by the way. I didn’t want to overwhelm you on your first visit.” 

“What kind of stuff?” Yuuri asked curiously as he watched Victor take the aforementioned ‘stuff’ out.

“Hydrocolloid dressing,” Victor listed, “chlorhexidine, iodine packing instead of plain, a foam dressing…”

Yuuri stared confusedly. “I’ll, um, I’ll leave that to you.”

With a laugh, Victor reassured him. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t use anything new without telling you first.”

Yuuri was more relaxed now that he knew the routine. He let himself watch Victor slip his fingers into his gloves, carefully open the dressing tray—

“Oops, I should warm up the solutions,” Victor said unexpectedly. “You know, I took a wound care course last year, and I learned that warming the saline promotes healing,” he shared, his voice growing distant as he took the two large bottles to the kitchen. “Because your body doesn’t need to warm it up itself, it can just do its thing.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said unhelpfully. “You can use the coffee machine.”

“Perfect.” Victor plopped the bottles in a large bowl and slid it under the nozzle, watching the steaming hot water spill down.

“I’ll take off your tape while it warms,” Victor said as he entered back into the living room. “That okay?”

Yuuri flushed, nodding. “Yes.”

He felt Victor’s fingers inch his pants down, then his underwear. It was familiar now, which seemed silly as it was only the second time he experienced it. It wasn’t as though Yuuri had terrible experiences with healthcare professionals, but he had never encountered a nurse as gentle and caring as Victor.

(He’d never encountered a nurse as fucking attractive as Victor, either.)

(And if anyone was going to pull down his pants, he was glad it was him.)

(Repress those thoughts, Yuuri. Don’t think about how hot your nurse is.)

(His hands are on your butt. It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. Your butt is fine.)

(Actually, no. Your butt is a bit fucked up at the moment.)

(Breathe. _Shit_ , the tape really pulls—)

“Yuuri? You still with me?”

“Ah, uh,” Yuuri said, face red. ( _I thought you were used to this already, dumbass_ , he thought.) “I’m okay, sorry.”

“Scream if it hurts.” Victor said as he peeled off the last of the tape, and then he let out a noise of discontent.

“What happened?” Yuuri asked, starting to panic a bit at the man’s silence.

Victor took off the bandage thoughtfully before saying, “Your skin is, uh, super angry-looking.”

“It doesn’t feel too great,” Yuuri admitted.

“Good thing I brought some hydrocolloid dressing! I was hoping you wouldn’t need it, but I can put it under the tape so I’m not ripping off your skin every day.” Victor said. “Aren’t I a good nurse? Ah, or a _cute nurse_ , apparently—“

_God fucking dammit, Phichit_. “I’m sorry,” Yuuri blurted out. “He really enjoys embarrassing me, in case you couldn’t already tell—”

“No need to apologize, Yuuri,” Victor said softly as he wiped around the wound. He wasn’t using water this time; it was something that stung. His voice got a little quieter. “You’re very cute, too, you know.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuuri said, dumbfounded. “Oh, thank you, Victor.”

A few moments of silence passed, then Victor said, “That’s enough for the chlorhexidine, hm?” before moving on to take out the packing. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, felt Victor gently lay a hand on his hip and caress, sweeping his thumb back and forth slowly. He focused on the feel of his gloves, smooth against the burning feeling of his skin, and breathed as he felt the pull of the packing slip out of him.

“Good,” Victor murmured. “A lot less blood today, Yuuri. I’m going to clean it out now.”

Yuuri gasped a bit in surprise as he felt Victor squirt saline in the wound. It relieved the small itch that was annoyingly present inside of it, and by now the saline was pleasantly warm. Victor decided to really go to town with it. Yuuri felt it rush down—between his legs, no less—and his cheeks warmed. “Vic—“

Victor plucked a gauze strip from the table and hesitated. “Sorry, did I get you—did I get your clothes wet?”

(It was going to happen eventually, in some way or another.)

“It’s okay, I can just change after—“

Victor shimmied Yuuri’s briefs down dangerously low in order to stuff the gauze between Yuuri’s legs to absorb any future drippage, exposing him further in the process. There was no way that Victor wasn't seeing Yuuri's more intimate areas. “Feel alright?”

Yuuri made a noise that could, on some distant planet, be interpreted as a form of affirmation. Victor chuckled behind him and dried inside the wound. “Mm, sorry.”

“S’alright,” Yuuri said, barely above a whisper.

Victor continued the act of flushing and drying, irrigating the wound until it was clean.

“I’m going to put the hydrocolloid dressing on now, I think,” Victor said. He was distracted by the rise and fall of Yuuri as he breathed. The man smelled so clean—the soap he used had a floral scent, and it wasn’t overpowering, but Victor—who was miserably hungover that day—felt a bit lightheaded. He let his gaze linger on the nape of Yuuri’s neck, his hair - black and frustratingly soft-looking. He took his gloves off slowly and before he had a chance to restrain himself, one hand was touching Yuuri’s hair.

(It was even fluffier than he expected.)

There was a few seconds of quiet, and then, “Victor?”

Yuuri shivered, and Victor knew that this time it wasn’t from the harsh cold of the saline. He buried his hand in it until it was engulfed in the darkness.

“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t really sorry at all. He made no moves to remove his hand, instead moving his fingers up to Yuuri’s crown. The shiver he received in return was satisfying and totally worth it. “It looked really soft. Ah, I’m—“

“Is it?” Yuuri interrupted. “Is it soft?”

“Mm,” Victor answered. He felt it for a little while longer before taking back his hand. His face burned a bit at his actions as he cut out several strips of duoderm.

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asked softly. His hair was all stuck up, his cheeks were cutely pigmented and matched Victor’s own. His large, brown eyes looked up at Victor in wonder.

Victor tried not to stare. His head spun a bit.

(It’s because of the alcohol from the night before. For sure. One hundred percent.)

(Although, Christophe would argue that it was because all of his blood was rushing downwards.)

“Um, I’m going to put this where the tape goes so- so- to save your skin. It just sticks,” Victor said, holding it up so Yuuri could see, “here,” he continued, placing a strip on the outside perimeter of the wound, “and we can change it maybe once a week.”

“It feels kind of slimy.” Yuuri made a face.

“It’s supposed to feel like a second skin,” Victor explained as he smoothed it down. “But I guess it probably feels weird.”

Victor managed to finish the job eventually. He packed the wound with the iodine ribbon (“It’s a lot thicker than the one from yesterday,” Yuuri noted), put a foam dressing on top (which allowed Yuuri to get it wet in the shower, as it served as a waterproof barrier), and lastly, taped on a thick ABD pad, making sure to keep the tape on the duoderm rather than on Yuuri’s skin. After he carefully removed the gauze out from between Yuuri’s legs and politely pulled his pants back up, Yuuri had a burning question.

“Am I allowed to try to sit, or will it make it worse?” he said to Victor. He was laying on his side, cheek in hand.

Victor unslung his winter coat from around the chair and smiled. “Eager,” he said playfully.

“Just a bit," Yuuri laughed. "Too soon, huh?”

“If you need to sit, it should be okay,” he began. “But it’s not going to be comfortable, and if it starts to hurt you’ll need stay off of it."

“So,” Yuuri said carefully, his eyes darting around the room and settling absolutely anywhere but on Victor’s face. “Next weekend… do you think I’d be able to sit at a restaurant for an hour or so?”

Victor hummed. “We’ll have to see how it is next week, but… I think if you get up and walk around every so often, it should be okay. Why, got a hot date?”

“Not yet,” Yuuri answered, vague. “We’ll see.”


	5. The Coming of Christophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe is the leader of the Victor Nikiforov defense squad, and he has a little something to tell Katsuki Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not updating in a while!! I had a pretty shitty week and it was kinda hard to find the time/motivation/mood to write, yikes. To make up for it, though, I'll try my best to have chapter six up by Sunday at the latest! You have permission to kill me.
> 
> This one'll go by pretty quick, it's a lot of Chris' POV to get some perspective on Victor. Also, surprise, surprise, he's very professional. Mostly. Other than getting plastered after work, but don't we all?
> 
>  
> 
> _(Whoa, Plumpie, does this really count as a slow burn if they're lusting after each other after only a day?)_
> 
>  
> 
> (Don't pretend you don't love it.)

The nurses were gathered in their usual morning huddle as they tried to fit some loose patients into their hectic Saturday schedule.

“Yuuri Katsuki: wound dressing. He had a pilonidal abscess excision and marsupialization just a few days ago. No specific time. He’s down for…” Lilia paused, and the wrinkle between her eyebrow became scarily deep as she squinted in what appeared to be confusion or surprise. “Male-only. Well, I suppose…”

Christophe hesitated for a minute. Yuuri Katsuki…

(“I’ll give you thirty dollars if you tell the nurse manager to change him to no gender preference. Please,” Victor begged. “Say it was a mistake. Or- or he told me to change it for him. Pleeease, Chris.” Victor said as his eyes wobbled and he played his cutesy pout card.

Taking a sip of Malibu, Chris enjoyed the smooth taste of coconut, letting it glide warmly down his throat before giving his friend a toothy, devilish smile. “You think I’m going to seduce your pretty little client, hm? Is that it, Nikiforov?” he said kiddingly.

Victor, drunk, couldn’t detect his sarcasm and instead gave him a pleading look, the rim of his glass nestled between his pink lips, ready to take a swig but waiting for an answer first. “No,” he said, unsure. “Just… I think he would rather a woman than you. You’d scare him, he’s shy! Oh—” Victor’s tone suddenly shifted, and he was swooning again, “his face turns so red around me and his voice gets all _soft_ —“

“It does, does it? Should I put him down for exclusively female?” Chris responded innocently. “Wouldn’t that mean that he’s uncomfortable with _you_ , sweets?”

Victor pondered this for a moment and then said, “Do you think he’s uncomfortable with me? Oh my god, Chris,” Victor said, horrified. “What if he doesn't like men? Shit, what if he thinks I’m—”

“Shhh, shh, I was joking—“

“Chris, what if—“

Laughing, Chris waved Victor’s worries away and nodded with a bat of his long eyelashes. “Thirty, you say? Sure, no preference it is. Pretty boy is all yours. I’ll even make sure he gets old Meredith tomorrow, in case he happens to enjoy the company of women. Which he doesn’t. You did show me that Eros routine, Victor. I mean, Christ.”)

He hadn’t gotten as drunk as his head-overs-heels co-worker that Thursday night. In fact, he drank agonizingly slow compared to his usual antics. Chris had met someone interesting (and he wanted to remember him, goddammit). So, of course, the memory of Victor begging him not to put Yuuri on his schedule was quite clear. But Chris wasn’t a huge fan of keeping promises.

(Although he had promised the man from the bar that he’d see him again, and he intended to keep it.)

And he was also intrigued by Victor’s seemingly instantaneous infatuation. He’d seen more than enough pictures of his patient, yes, but there must’ve been something more about the young figure skater than his cute appearance to have made Victor this… well, fucking crazy about him. The older man’s sudden euphoria didn’t get on Chris’ nerves as much as it confused him to death.

God, maybe Victor really was losing it. Chris had never met a man with a personality as contradictory as Victor’s. He was so confident that he was insecure, was always open about himself but had an endless pile of secrets…

Or perhaps Chris was losing it. Victor was a hopeless romantic at heart and could seduce virtually anyone, but he didn’t go on dates, or save numbers, or stay long-term with any of them. Perhaps it was about goddamn time Victor was the one being seduced for a change, be the receiver in a relationship.

Maybe ‘receiver’ wasn’t the best word. Or maybe it was, but Chris sure didn’t want to think too deeply about it.

Chris, of course, accepted the money and spent it on a taxi for him and Masumi, all thoughts of Victor getting home okay flying out of his head in the process. For fuck’s sake, Victor was a grown man—even several years older than him—but Chris still had the paternal instinct to make sure he was okay, especially after a night out. He tended to keep a really close eye on him, and it was subtle—even to Victor. Christophe himself knew that Victor didn’t have a ton of friends, didn’t talk often about his time at university, and he never talked about his family or his life back in Russia, and Chris didn’t ask. If Victor had a tragic backstory, he recognized that it sure as hell was none of his business.

Not that it was obvious, but Chris knew somehow that Victor had never been in a serious relationship. When the Swiss man first got hired as an RN, he saw Victor as a confident, older, experienced man. He wasn’t so much attracted to him as he was impressed—Chris was, oftentimes severely, charming himself—but to Victor it seemed to come so naturally. He couldn’t imagine Victor having even an ounce of self-doubt. It just didn’t seem possible.

So, obviously, when they became good friends and started going out drinking together, he took Victor’s promiscuity and flings as no big deal—just Victor being Victor. He didn’t see them as loneliness or a cry for validation, though that’s exactly what they were.

As you get to know someone, though, you realize how their blatant perfection is just a well-practiced act. There’s always something hidden beneath their veil.

But he was sure Victor would be fine that night—too caught up in his fantasies about Katsuki to get himself into any trouble or sexual encounter—and perhaps that’s why he felt better about leaving him to his own devices.

(And he was right. Victor texted him the morning after before he headed off to work: **Did I dream that you left separately with someone last night?** )

(Chris had pressed himself a bit closer to the man in his bed, felt his bare arms envelope around him cozily, before replying: **You’re sharper than I thought, mon chéri. Did I dream that you pissed through your pants last night?** )

(Victor’s reply was quick. **What???** )

( **Just kidding.** )

Now, Chris let his curiosity control him. He had a slot left on his schedule between ten and eleven in the morning, and it was just _begging_ to be filled. Who better to fill it than Victor’s pretty little Japanese ice skater? It could be an interesting visit, after all.

Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the protectiveness he felt towards Victor kicking in, but he had an undeniable compulsion to meet the man that Victor had so readily given his heart to.

Maybe even speed up the process a little more.

Or stop it before Victor gets hurt.

“I guess that would be me,” he said to Lilia. “Seeing as I’m the only male here today.”

The strict woman gave him a curt nod—ponytail pulling her face tight—before she asked, “I suppose Victor already swiped him up as his main?”

Some of the nurses confirmed this and a fair few let out a quiet giggle, covering their mouths as if to prevent a dirty secret from slipping out. Others looked a bit ticked off at the whole ordeal.

Chris smirked. So, it looked like the entire staff was aware of Victor’s little crush. If his experience with the doe-eyed man was anything to go by, Victor wasn’t exactly being subtle with it. “I’ll take good care of Victor’s patient,” he said innocently, and Lilia frowned at the apparent inside joke she wasn’t a part of, her lips tight together in annoyance.

“Good, then. Next, there’s…”

—

Phichit threw a piece of popcorn high up above him, and Yuuri let out a snort of laughter when it landed directly into his eye.

“You know, you shouldn’t laugh at sick people, Yuuri. That’s how karma works. You’ll be the next one to fall ill to my disease, just you wait and see,” Phichit stated seriously. “Move your feet, I want to lay down too.

Yuuri opened his mouth, waiting, and Phichit tried to throw another piece into it, but failed yet again. “First of all,” Yuuri began, “you have a cold. Second, _I’m_ the one with the serious medical problem, so I get the couch,” he said, refusing to move a muscle. “Third, karma doesn’t need to do a single thing, because you’re already spreading your germs all over the house.” He picked the popcorn off of his shirt and popped it into his mouth. “And you suck at throwing.”

Phichit dramatically put his bowl of popcorn on the floor and proceeded to plop himself down, letting his legs—hot to the touch—entangle with Yuuri’s. “Okay, I have the _flu_ and you have a _boyfriend_ , so honestly, Yuuri, recognize your privilege.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Yuuri muttered, shifting a bit more onto his side. It was impossible to get comfortable. If he put too much pressure on his backside it would begin to ache. The television’s volume was low, and Phichit had put on the beginning of _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, as per his promise/threat to binge-watch them. “You need to stop telling everyone that.”

Phichit sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, making Yuuri glare. “I thought you said you were going to ask him out next week?”

“God,” Yuuri began, “I don’t know what’d gotten into me,” he said, cupping his face in his hands. He turned his head away from Phichit to hide the whimsical smile that was forming on his lips. “Maybe it’s because he touched my hair. It felt…” Yuuri paused, and his next word was a breathy one. “ _Intimate_?”

Phichit was unaffected. “He literally comes here and touches your _ass_ for an hour,” he chortled. “That’s pretty fucking intimate, too, Yuuri.”

The love spell Yuuri was under suddenly broke, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but that’s his job. It’s not the same.”

“I wish my job was to touch people’s butts,” Phichit said dreamily. His clogged nose made his voice sound funny and toddler-like, which in turn ripped a snorted laugh out of Yuuri. “I should’ve became a nurse, instead. Imagine me in scrubs. _God_ ,” Phichit continued fantasizing, “I really do look cute in anything…“

Yuuri’s phone went off abruptly, his ringtone cutting off Phichit’s self-love ramblings.

(“You’re finally gayer than me,” Phichit had told him when he’d first heard it, but Yuuri defended his choice to make _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_ his ringtone with his life. “It’s a feel-good song,” he said defensively. “And George Michael was a gift.”) 

He glimpsed at the unknown number, and his heart dropped into his stomach when he remembered that Victor was off work for the weekend.

“Hello?” he said timidly into the phone, his voice now high with nervousness.

There were a few heavy seconds of silence, and then a deep, accented voice rung out in amusement. Yuuri was having a serious case of deja vu. “Katsuki, is it?”

Phichit blew his nose loudly as Yuuri replied, “Yes.”

“May I come at ten?”

“Yes,” Yuuri repeated. “That would be fine, yes.”

“Good,” the voice said, and the line went silent.

“Was that another _man_? Yuuri, if you cheat on Victor, I _swear_ I’ll—“

Yuuri almost whimpered when he saw the time was 9:55am, leaving him only a few minutes to physically, mentally, and emotionally prepare himself for whoever was going to come. Victor himself had said there were only two other male nurses on the team: Leo and Chris, and Yuuri wondered which one it would be.

“We aren’t dating,” Yuuri reminded him, and Phichit muttered yet under his breath. “He didn’t sound that friendly,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “You have to go upstairs, Chu.”

Phichit delivered a perfectly-timed sneeze, and he looked at Yuuri in shock, his reddened, irritated nose still twitching. “No way, I want to meet him! If you get a hot nurse, then so do I!”

“Fine,” Yuuri sighed. “But then you have to go upstairs.” Yuuri slid his feet onto the cold hardwood to move a chair over to the couch, where Phichit laid still. He nudged a warm blanket up to his chin and glued his warm-coloured eyes to the moving image of Frodo Baggins, sniffling every few seconds, which made Yuuri firmly believe that his ‘flu’ was all part of a conspiracy to annoy the ever-loving hell out of him.

—

With a blanket still wrapped around his slim shoulders, Phichit was the one to open the door for the nurse as Yuuri trailed shyly behind him. He was a tall guy—certainly taller than Yuuri and Phichit—and slightly older than the both of them. His hair was short around the ears and in the back, dark at the roots, but blonde and fluffy on top. He was curvy, shoulders broad, and his eyes were a piercing, vibrant green. Phichit seemed to tense slightly at the sight of him—not in discomfort, but surprise.

“I know you,” Chris immediately said to Phichit, laughter threatening to spill from his mouth. “You’re that pretty little pharmacist I see all the time, mm? Funny to see you without your coat.” He gave the younger man a wink. Sensuality absolutely dripped from his person—as if he didn’t even have to try—and his lips were distractingly wet and red.

(Is there a requirement that you have to be fiercely attractive in order to be a nurse?)

“Oh, god. You’re that guy who buys a shit ton of condoms,” Phichit blurted out, and Chris turned a little bashful.

“Christophe. Guilty,” he admitted before his eyes slid to Yuuri, who was attempting to hide behind his blunt-tongued friend. “And is this the famous Katuski Yuuri from Japan? I know a lot about you.”

“You do?” Yuuri asked surprisedly before saying, “Oh, you must watch figure skating.”

Chris grinned. “Not at all. Couch?”

Yuuri, confused at the man’s response, nodded, leading him to the living room and glancing at Phichit, who was following close behind. “Phichit?”

Phichit’s blanket dragged behind him as he entered the room innocently. “Yes?”

Yuuri gave him The Look—the one that reeked of ‘ _what the hell did I tell you less than ten minutes ago?_ ’ and ‘ _do you mind_?’ but Phichit fluttered in and situated himself comfortably in a chair. Chris either didn’t notice the silent conversation between them or didn’t care enough to involve himself in it, as he was too busy preparing for the wound dressing.

The room was quiet for awhile. Phichit was not so subtly glancing between the nurse and the movie, Yuuri giving him death glares as he did.

“Phichit,” he said sweetly, “you should really get some rest. Since you’re sick.”

Squinting at his roommate in distrust, Phichit’s voice was just as sickly. “I just woke up, and besides, I want to provide _moral support_ for my _best friend_.”

Chris snapped his gloves on. “I don’t mind if you stay,” he said simply. Without warning, his gloved hands were on the waistband of Yuuri’s pants and they quickly tugged down without a second thought. Phichit had his phone in his hand, of course, looking like he was going to drop dead from holding in his laughter at the expression on Yuuri's face.

**bitchit** : the ass is out. i repeat, the ass is out

**moolah** : can u get a pic i actually really wanna see yuuri’s hole lol

**seung-gil has left the chat.**

**moolah added seung-gil to the chat.**

**moolah** : excuse me, is there an issue

**seung-gil** : I DON’T WANT TO SEE IT.

**seung-gil** : AND PLEASE DON’T REFER TO IT AS ‘YUURI’S HOLE’

**bitchit** : everyone loves yuuri’s hole

**moolah** : all hail yuuri’s hole

**bitchit** : assmen hallelujah

**guangamole** : i agree with seung-gil just say wound

**bitchit sent 1 attachment.**

**seung-gil** : WHAT THE FUCK

**moolah** : nvm i hate it

**bitchit** : jk i got that from google everyone chill

**moolah** : that person doesn’t even have an ass left it’s just

**moolah** : fuckin ... wide open

**bitchit** : yuuri’s hole is so small in comparison

**bitchit** : but it’s still dear to me

**guangamole** : sometimes i hate being in this chat. i feel like i need to shower.

**bitchit** : i know u love it

**bitchit** : did u guys see victors picture from last night

**moolah** : no what is it

**bitchit** : he’s like standing in front of a wall of dildos with someone

**bitchit** : anyway that someone is yuuri’s new nurse and i’m talking to him rn lol

**moolah** : omg i just saw it

**moolah** : he looks like a porn star?

**bitchit** : i think he is tbh lmao

**moolah** : i am going to research this

**bitchit** : lemme know what u find

Victor had been spoiling Yuuri with his gentleness.

It wasn’t that Chris was bad at his job, because he certainly wasn’t. Yuuri was not in any unbearable pain and he definitely wasn’t near tears, but Chris’ movements were calculated and precise—almost mechanical—they lacked the tenderness of Victor’s touch in every possible way.

He was fast, too. Victor usually took over an hour to finish, but Chris reached the irrigation process it in almost no time at all. Victor was warm, slow—he took time to talk to Yuuri and make sure he was always comfortable.

(If Yuuri truthfully wished to flatter himself, he would say that Victor wanted to prolong his visit because he enjoyed being in his company, but Yuuri was too goddamn modest.)

God, how was it possible to miss someone this much when you’ve only met them a handful of times? It just didn’t seem fair.

Chris and Phichit chatted with each other fervently during the dressing. They were actually quite similar, Yuuri noted—both charismatic with friendly energies, and on the flirty side (even when it wasn’t the best time for it). He, however, remained quiet, let Chris do his job, only jumping into the conversation when he thought he could be helpful. Oddly, the topic of Victor was never brought up.

Sometimes Chris would look at Yuuri as if he was about to ask him a question, but he would turn away and shake his head after a few moments, changing his mind.

—

Phichit stayed put in the living room when it was time for Chris to leave, claiming he was too sick to move but bidding farewell to his new friend all the same. (“I guess I’ll see you at the pharmacy,” Phichit said mischievously. “In case you need to stock up again.”) Yuuri, always polite, walked his nurse to the door.

Christophe—at the last minute, with his hand clutching the doorknob—turned to him, his voice low.

“It’s not professional of him, but he really likes you, Katsuki.”

Yuuri’s cheeks heated up involuntarily, lips parting in surprise. Chris’ warm breath kissed his ear, the man’s face terrifyingly close to his. Yuuri could see every short, stiff hair protruding from his face, threatening to jab his own.

“I’m torn between being annoyed and being happy for him,” Chris continued quietly, but his voice suddenly darkened. “And he may not look like it, but Victor can break very easily. Please keep that in mind, yes?”

Yuuri nodded slowly, and Chris pulled away, lightness coming back to his personality as he said his goodbye, the door shutting tightly behind him.

—

**moolah** : hey what sup im in lesbians with my date shes so....fucking....cool

**moolah** : but i just wanted to say i love you yuuri and i love your hole

**moolah** : please invitr me to your wedding

**moolah** : we can have a douub;e gay wedding Please

**moolah** : your hole can be the rin g bearer

**ho(l)e** : are u drunk?

**moolah** : drunk in love baby

**ho(l)e** : right.. have a good night mila

**moolah** : precious boy. this shots 4 u. glug

**bitchit** : ok why the fuck wasn't i invited to your date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon chéri means honey  
> in case  
> you didn't know


	6. A Brief Meredith and A Bottle of Pinot Grigio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor drinks some more, Yuuri contracts the plague, and Phichit is still Phichit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh, yeah. We're just going to pretend that I didn't promise to update on Sunday. And we're also going to pretend that I wasn't drunk this entire time (and also while writing most of this), and that I absolutely injected my drunken experiences into Victor.
> 
> Totally not.

Victor was awoken by a loud, shrill noise that seemed to penetrate into his fucking brain. He cursed himself for forgetting to put his phone on silent before he went to bed.

Needless to say, it wasn’t exactly his favourite way to be woken up.

He rummaged around his sheets, and he disturbed Makkachin's peaceful slumber in the process. The large dog huffed and retreated to the opposite corner of the bed, to Victor’s dismay. When his hand grasped the cold, familiar surface of his cellphone, he was shocked to learn that it was already one in the afternoon.

God, when had he fallen asleep last night?

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to recollect, and bits and pieces came back to him one by one in scattered chunks and slivers. Now, let’s see… he had dropped by the liquor store that evening and bought himself a huge bottle of pinot grigio—nothing too fancy, just a cheap bottle that would get him drunk enough…

(Not that he was an alcoholic, but hanging out with his dog alone at night did get a tad bit boring after a while.)

(Okay, maybe he was a bit of an alcoholic, but it’s a totally acceptable hobby when you’re still in your twenties, right?)

He ignored the text message for now, not even bothering to check who it was from, and instead opened up his camera roll, believing that would give him at least a tiny idea of what he had gotten up to last night. The bottle sat empty on his night table, and he groaned regretfully. He wasn’t even a wine kinda guy—the first few gulps were always almost unbearable—the damn drink tasted like rubbing alcohol, and he dealt with the stench of that way too often already at work. 

At least he had slept through a possible hangover—but he was very aware of the bile that threatened to climb up his throat and spill out, and the fact that his head felt as if it would disconnect from him and roll onto the floor right then and there. He squeezed his eyes shut until the dizziness passed, then tentatively opened them again.

The most recent item in his camera roll was a video, and he hesitantly clicked play as he sat up and crossed his legs on his bed.

It was of him, of course. He tipped his wine glass—much too large, it could probably fit the whole goddamn bottle, probably—up and took a huge swig. There was loud music playing, and he swayed his body from side to side while he mouthed the words, giggling with laughter and tomato red in the face.

_Ready or not, shhh, here comes Mama!_

_Mama’s talkin’ loud_

_Mama’s doin’ fine_

_Mama’s gettin’ hot_

_Mama’s goin’ strong_

_Mama’s movin’ on..._

The Victor in the video wheezed and snorted into his glass of wine, starting to sing louder.

_…Mama’s all alone_

_Mama doesn’t care_

_Mama’s lettin’ loose_

_Mama’s got the stuff…_

The video ended as Victor tipped his head back with a loud breath of laughter, and Sober Victor rubbed his eyes in annoyance at his own silliness. Well, at least it looked like he had fun last night. There were some texts from Chris that he ignored (the last one being ‘ _I mean it’s not the best dick pic ever, but it has potential_ ,’ which only made Victor desperately hope Chris was critiquing his own photos and not his) because as soon as he opened his messages, there was a name that immediately caught his eye.

_Yuuri_. Right at the top. He must’ve sent the very text that had roused Victor from sleep.

He found himself not quite minding anymore that he had been woken up. He tapped on the message.

**[1:04pm]**  
hi, i hope you don’t mind me contacting your number!! i just hope you’re having a nice weekend! will i see you tomorrow?

Victor’s heart soared and felt blissfully light in his chest.

**[1:09pm]**  
Thank you Yuuri!!! I don’t mind! I hope you’re having a good weekend too. Don’t worry, I’ve pretty much claimed you :)

**[1:10pm]**  
oh? i’m honoured.

Victor was blushing furiously now, fully awake. His nausea was quickly replaced with a dreamy heat radiating from his chest.

(Instant hangover cure: Katsuki Yuuri. Duly noted.)

**[1:10pm]**  
So am I.  
I’ll see you tomorrow, Yuuri.

**[1:11pm]**  
♥

Victor collapsed back onto his pillow and shoved his face into the crook of his elbow, a grin permanently plastered on his face.

—

“ _Shit_ ,” Yuuri gasped. “I sent it, shit—“

Phichit snaked his arms around Yuuri’s waist, pressing himself into the other man as they both laid on the couch. “I’m so blessed to have a live romance movie happening right before my eyes,” he cried, voice muffled into Yuuri’s shoulder. “So blessed, Yuuri.”

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, half laughing and half worried. “Stop, your skin is on fire—“

“Let me have this moment,” Phichit said solemnly. “Ever since Mr. Cyst came into your life, you stopped cuddling with me. I am dying without cuddles.”

“You are not dying,” Yuuri sighed, still staring in disbelief over Phichit’s shoulder at the red heart on his phone. He decided to ignore Phichit’s use of ‘Mr. Cyst.’ For now. “Vicchan gives better cuddles, anyway. Cuddle with him.”

Phichit squeezed him tighter. “Don’t you _dare_ underestimate your cuddling ability. No one can compare,” he swore with a sniff. “You’re going to be cuddling with Victor in your big, sexy house and I’m going to be here with dog Viktor,” he murmured. “All alone, and you’re going to have, like, _eight kids_ , and they’re all going to be really, really cute—and they’re all going to be so good at skating, and—and— _nursing_ —“

“Wow,” Yuuri said. “I don’t know about _that_. Eight’s a pretty big number.”

“But you’d be eight times better at being a dad than anyone else,” Phichit said before he sneezed into Yuuri’s chest, causing them both to bounce and shake the couch.

“Chu,” Yuuri whined. “I love you, but you’re going to get me sick. Plus, I don’t think that’s how being a parent works.”

Phichit reluctantly unglued his body from Yuuri’s and put his hands on both of his friend’s cheeks. He wore a look of determination on his face. “You better ask that man on a date, Katsuki Yuuri. I will cry myself to sleep every night for the rest of my life if you don’t.”

“Jeez, jeez,” Yuuri replied, but a smirk soon grew on his lips. “I’m not just gonna send a guy a heart emoji and _not_ ask him out.”

Phichit planted a huge kiss just to the left of Yuuri’s mouth with a smack. “That’s what I like to hear!”

Yuuri shooed him, covering his own face. “AH, what did I say about kissing me—!”

“Probably that I shouldn’t,” Phichit answered impishly as he rolled away. “But in all your years of being blessed with my presence, have I ever listened?”

—

Yuuri’s nurse on Sunday was the sort of person he had been originally expecting from the very beginning.

Phichit, in the meantime—still very much under the weather—succumbed to the sharp pulls of sleep upstairs in his bedroom.

His nurse was an older woman named Meredith—probably near retirement age, or even semi-retired already—with thin, grey hair, and dark eyes that were void of any emotion at all.

The first thing she said when she came in was, “It’s colder in here than it is outside,” which prompted Yuuri to frantically apologize, claiming that he and his roommate like the house a bit on the cooler side, even though the _real_ reason it was freezing inside of the house was because Phichit had kept opening the door for fresh air.

(“You’re definitely not going to get better if you keep going out into the snow,” Yuuri had shouted to him. Phichit tried to argue back, but the constant clattering of his teeth effectively rendered all of it invalid.)

Other than that, she didn’t speak all too much. When she looked at the nurse’s sign-in sheet in Yuuri’s folder, she grunted, “Right, you’re Victor’s boy,” and then shook her head as she signed her own name in the fourth space down.

“Victor’s boy?” Yuuri asked, and she repeated him as if it was obvious. “Victor’s boy. That’s what I said.”

While she was looking into the wound with a flashlight, she muttered something that included the words ‘ _pseudomonas _’ and ‘ _should’ve brought some vinegar_.’ Yuuri, terrified and ignorant on anything to do with wound care, didn’t ask for her to clarify as he assumed she would just give him the stink eye again.__

____

She was agonizingly slow. Yuuri’s medication gradually wore off throughout the dressing until almost every touch made him flinch in pain. The packing process, especially, took a considerable toll on him. The tweezers poked deep inside the wound a few times—scraped the tender tissue there and, no doubt, made it bleed—and Meredith clucked her tongue in irritation when Yuuri’s shoulders shot up.

“Where do you keep your supplies?” she asked once he was finally all taped up, looking to leave a few things with him 'in case something falls apart.'

“I don’t have any,” Yuuri said nervously. “Am I supposed to?”

Meredith let out a huge sigh as if this was the biggest inconvenience in the world for her. “No one put in a supply order for you?

Embarrassed, Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll do it in the car,” Meredith said as she got up from her chair with a huff. When Yuuri made a move to get up, she put up her hand and said, “I’m fine. Call the office if you have any problems.” And then, to Yuuri’s relief, she vanished once again.

—

**mila** : wait… tell me again 

**cysters before misters** : really 

**mila** : yes. 

**cysters before misters** : okay. 

**cysters before misters** : i’m going to wait until friday, see how things go w/ my pain levels, etc 

**mila** : a huh  (◡‿◡✿) 

**cysters before misters** : then i’m going to ask if he has plans on saturday

**mila** : and then? (ﾟヮﾟ) 

**cysters before misters** : and if he says that he doesn't, i’m going to ask if he’d like to do something with me that night. maybe dinner. 

**mila** : yeah and i bet he's gonna kiss u real good 

**cysters before misters** : uHHHhhh please stop fantasizing on my behalf 

**mila** : mmmm 

**guanghong** : thats too far away, u should ask him tomorrow 

**mila** : i agree! thank u! 

**cysters before misters** : my wound still hurts too much, i don't think it would be a good idea to try to sit on it any earlier than that 

**mila** : might as well fuck ur ass up more 

**guanghong** : oh sorry maybe not

**mila** : i thought u were on my side 

**guanghong** : you were the one saying u cherish yuuri’s hole or whatever 

**guanghong** : and now ur willing to let it suffer 

**cysters before misters** : ???? what the hell do you guys talk about when i’m not here 

**mila** : i’m literally so glad u don’t read up lmao 

**mila** : never change yuuri 

**mila** : but i really do cherish all of ur holes, i don’t discriminate 

**grouchy boy lee** : E n o u g h 

—

When Yuuri woke up on Monday morning, his nose was all plugged up, and he could feel the beginnings of a sore throat arising. 

The night before, Phichit had convinced him to sleep in his bed with him and watch a lighthearted movie (“Don’t pick anything sinister,” Phichit had proclaimed. “If anyone dies, _and that includes pets_ , I will never forgive you.”), and Yuuri obliged and chose a generic comedy. They sat against the bed frame, laptop heating up the space between them. The younger man was clearly miserable—calling off work made him worried, and he cursed his terrible immune system for taking forever to fight off common illnesses. Besides, Yuuri’s wound hurt the most when he was trying to go to sleep, and a distraction could’ve only helped him relax. 

Despite having the best sleep he'd had in weeks, Yuuri was a damn fool. 

Phichit was a cuddle temptress. His small frame fit perfectly with Yuuri’s, and the mere fact that he wasn’t feeling good was enough to trick Yuuri into his trap. 

And now Yuuri was sick—could feel a tickle itching at the back of his throat—his eyes were watering, irritated, and were most likely red. He could see Phichit’s body rising and falling beside him, his mouth open and snoring quietly, and sighed. He couldn’t find the heart to be mad at him. It was mostly his own fault, anyhow. 

Yuuri climbed off of Phichit’s bed to shower—something he both despised and loved nowadays—and to sweep the medicine cabinet for something to soothe his symptoms. 

— 

Victor’s scrubs were a pale, washed out pink, and Yuuri couldn’t help but silently fawn over how nicely they complimented his hair. 

Yuuri himself had made an attempt with his appearance, even though his nose was running all to hell, and the relief that the hot lemon tea he had drank before Victor called would eventually fade, bringing the soreness back into its dreadful place. 

Victor held a white plastic bag with him along with his usual one, and he smiled as he held it out to Yuuri, who took it. “Your supplies were sitting outside.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri said, peering inside the bag. “I guess I didn’t hear them knock.” 

Victor put his other bag down and took off his boots, shivering a bit from the cold. The snow outside was continuing to accumulate. It was the peak of winter. “That’s okay. I should apologize,” he said shyly. “I forgot to place an order for you.” 

Yuuri shook his head, dismissing him, a smile forming. “No, no, you should apologize to Meredith instead. She almost took my head off.” 

Victor broke into laughter, and it was music to the other man’s ears. Very faint crow’s feet appeared around his eyes, and Yuuri wondered how other people could ever think that those sorts of wrinkles were a bad thing. He resisted the urge to take Victor’s face into his hands and kiss every single one of them. 

“You look nice today,” Victor said once they were settled. “The usual, though, hm?” 

“You should see me first thing in the morning,” Yuuri joked as a blush began to occupy his cheeks. 

“Would love to,” Victor answered, legs crossed. He had his pen cap between his pearly white teeth and he wrote on a paper balanced on his knee. Yuuri almost fainted at the implication before Victor continued, “Maybe you’ll come downstairs tomorrow and I’ll already be sitting here.” 

“I think that’s called breaking and entering.” 

“I don’t think you’d mind.” 

“No,” Yuuri replied. “I probably wouldn’t.” 

Victor grinned. “You’re sniffling, I’ve noticed.” 

“Phichit got me sick,” Yuuri shared, annoyance tinging his voice only slightly. “Which I have reason to believe he did on purpose." 

“Oh?” Victor said. “Good thing you have someone to nurse you back to health, huh?" 

Victor scrawled his initials below Meredith’s along with the date. He looked at Christophe’s name with both misery and graciousness. The other man had dropped by his place for a visit on his break and told him about his run-in with Yuuri. 

However, Chris, was—as expected—not completely honest with his friend. He claimed that he ‘ _dropped several hints_ ’ about Victor’s feelings for him, and that Yuuri ‘ _seemed to reciprocate_.’ He did not mention the fact that he had basically told the young patient that his hot nurse had a fragile heart that could be smashed to tiny bits very, very easily. Let’s just say it was due to time constraints that it didn’t manage find its way into the conversation. 

Victor was inspecting the wound and idly chatting with Yuuri when a noise came from the other end of the couch. Victor looked around the room in confusion before his eyes caught Yuuri’s phone peeking from beneath a blanket. “I think you got a text,” he informed him. “Want me to pass it to you?" 

Yuuri, with an endless stream of thoughts of Victor fogging up his mind (most not entirely appropriate), replied, “Yes, please.” 

Victor covered the wound momentarily with a pad and reached out for the device. 

When he saw Victor’s lips tug upwards upon picking up the phone, he immediately regretted his decision. 

“Your friend has very good hearing,” he said, turning away to hide his flush as he passed Yuuri his cellphone. 

**[11:49am]**  
whens the wedding?? i can hear u guys flirting (!!) 

Yuuri made an inhuman noise. Before he could type out a reply, he received another message. 

**[11:49am]**  
oh fuck did he see that 

**[11:49am]**  
SORRY 

Yuuri miserably locked his phone and slid it back under a cushion, embarrassed. Phichit really was going to kill him one day. He took a while to notice that Victor’s gloved hand was on his back and it was clearly quaking. When Yuuri looked behind him, he saw the man shaking in quiet laughter. 

“Victor?” he said quietly. “What—“ 

“Sorry,” the other man gasped, taking a much needed breath of air. “The look on your face. So cute.” 

Yuuri buried his face in his hands and laughed. “You’re not helping!” 

When Yuuri’s phone beeped seconds later, they both fell back into a fit of giggles. 

— 

“I wish I could stay longer,” Victor said sadly, pulling on his long coat. “None of my other patients like to talk to me.” 

Yuuri smiled. “None of the other nurses like talking to me so far, either,” he said. “So don’t feel too bad.” 

“I’m sure you had a good talk with Chris,” Victor objected, smiling down warmly. 

Yuuri flushed. So, Chris had told Victor what he had said to him. That would explain the more obvious attempts at flirting, but it also made everything a bit more awkward. 

“We did,” he said carefully. “You’re right. I just can’t get Meredith out of my mind.” 

“Never heard that one before,” Victor chuckled as he wrapped his scarf around him, reaching for the doorknob. “See you, Yuuri.” 

He nodded. Then, as Victor stepped outside, Yuuri blurted out, “Text me if you’re bored!”

Victor flashed him a huge smile. “Sure thing!” 

— 

As soon as Yuuri resumed his position on the couch, his phone beeped. 

**[12:36pm]**  
I’m already bored. Let me back in?? :( 

Yuuri got up and peeked out of the side window, and sure enough Victor’s black car was still parked in the drive. 

**[12:37pm]**  
get to work!! (and don’t text and drive pls)!!! 

**[12:37pm]**  
Okay, okay! ♥  
See you tomorrow.  
I’ll probably text you after work. 

Victor’s messages came in rapidly, and Yuuri was forced to support most of his weight against the nearest wall. He could hear a car start. 

**[12:38pm]**  
:) 

— 

“I thought you guys were about to suck each other off or something. I could literally feel the sexual tension radiating throughout the house.” 

“Phichit, stop." 

“I’m not kidding. I was ready to escape through my window if it had to come to that.” 

“Phichit,” Yuuri said with a groan as he typed something into his phone. 

“Unless you’re an exhibitionist. Tell me if you are. I won’t mind,” Phichit said with innocent sincerity as he sipped his green tea. 

“You… you just outed yourself as a voyeur. We’re not discussing this anymore.” 

“Fine,” Phichit replied. “We can continue this conversation later, and you can tell me why you know what a voyeur is.” 

“Absolutely not." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rv1p1Vea0iY#t=01m36s) that Victor sings while drunk, and YES I was totally thinking of [that Arrested Development scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIT9Gbn7Zh8)
> 
> also yeah, yuuri & phichit cuddle. it's a bro thing. it's what bros do. bro love. bro kisses. guys bein dudes. smoochin.


End file.
